


Put Your Head on My Shoulder

by ihave0dignity



Series: We Belong Together [1]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Action & Romance, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awkward Peter Parker, Bad Spelling & Grammar, Because I can, Bisexual Peter Parker, Character Development, College Student Peter Parker, Deadpool Cares, Deadpool Dies (He Comes Back), Deadpool Is a Good Boyfriend, Deadpool Wants to Be a Sugar Daddy, Deadpool being Deadpool, Deadpool is a Sweetheart, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Developing Friendships, Dissociation, Don't copy to another site, Drama, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epilogue, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Flowers, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, He's Low-key a Sub, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I Will End You, Identity Reveal, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Injury, Insecurity, Love Confessions, M/M, MJ is a good friend, Mental Health Issues, Not Beta Read, Panic Attacks, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Paranoia, Party, Pedophilia, Peter Doesn't Even Know What to Say, Peter Gets Reality Checked, Peter Gets his Shit Together, Peter Parker Deserves Better, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Wears a Dress, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Peter Parker is a nerd, Peter Parker-centric, Podfic Welcome, Precious Peter Parker, Romance, Running away from your problems, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Spider-Man Identity Reveal, Star Wars References, Stuffed Toys, Ten Years Later, Time Skips, Tony Kinda Sucks, Whump, english isn't author's first language, fuck gender roles, happiness, no cutting, so many references, why is that not a tag? COWARDS all of you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 53,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22632826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihave0dignity/pseuds/ihave0dignity
Summary: Peter was a happy person. He was optimistic, hopeful, cheery. Always smiling and laughing, he was full of life. On a certain day, however, that changed. Everything changed. And he felt lost. Disoriented, hopeless and miserable, nothing seemed to get better, and it felt like it would stay that way forever.But on an innocent night, when the moon was high up illuminating the sky and the stars all shined, something happened. His world, once grey, started to color again.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: We Belong Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628158
Comments: 83
Kudos: 371





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: dissociation, description of shootout, suicidal thoughts (brief) and eating disorder.
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with these themes, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

The world was moving too fast. Sirens could be heard, exceedingly shouting, loud and rushed steps, car wheels skidding on the wet streets, the rain falling over the sidewalk and people’s heads, muffled crying.

The metallic, salty scent of blood, the rain, the coffee that had been spilled all over the floor not so long ago, the trash can from the other side of the street and mixed colognes from the paramedics could be easily smelled.

A bitter taste could be found under the tongue and it wouldn’t go away. A repulsive flavor could be felt making its way to outside of the body, all of the dinner going along with it.

It was all a blur. Shadows of people, police cars and ambulances, red and blue lights seemed to corrode the eyes, too bright to be ignored, and a specific silhouette almost blocking the view of everything else.

But nothing could be felt. It was like there was no skin to begin with, no body, no physical embodiment or appearance to _sense_ the world. It felt like floating, watching from a distant point of view, far away from the reality and its endless life and death cycle.

It was confusing. What was happening couldn’t be understood for the fact that it didn’t feel _real_ whatsoever. It felt like a dream, where the rest of the world moved around and everything happened way too fast to be processed and all that could be done was observing.

Time wasn’t a thing taken into consideration; it felt too false to even wonder about. According to Carlo Rovelli, time was an illusion and reality was just a complex network of events onto which there’s the projection of sequences of past, present and future; but what was being experienced felt like a combination— or lack— of the three. Did that mean it wasn’t reality? Perhaps it was indeed a dream, a false experience, a mind trick.

Nonetheless, it didn’t end. It was exhausting and depleting whereas it was nothing.

It could be concluded, thereupon, that nothingness was the worst torture to be endured. Nothing could be understood, nothing could be felt, time and space were long gone among the almost forgotten memories of what were emotions and the brain proceeded to confuse itself with the absence of information.

It was wondered if there was even anything or anyone there, at nothing, before all else. How could nothingness be felt, if there was nothing to feel and nothing to be felt with?

There was Nothing and Nothing only.

Until, there wasn’t.

There was a light, very far away and very dull, but there.

If any effort was done so the light came closer, it couldn’t be known, but it started to approximate itself. Approximate itself to… to what?

It had been wondered at some point if there was anything there, but the faint memory of something started to come to mind. Something had been forgotten, something important, what was there?

A person, one of the humankind, who was it? Who were they, a man, a woman, both, neither, who were they? Anxious. They didn’t know who they were but they felt anxious, because they didn’t know where they were or for how long they had been there; were they somewhere else before? Was there a life to return to?

The light was closer and he felt uneasy. Was he really a “he”? For all the confusion and nonsense he had experienced to this moment, he couldn’t be sure. It felt right, however, so he opted on focusing on more relevant things.

He had to remember what he’d forgotten, because he knew it was important. Was it really significant if it could be so easily dismissed from his mind, after all? He couldn’t know; confusion was still so present on his mind it had started to annoy him.

Pain. He could recall pain and it was such a strong feeling, it made him reconsider if remembering was still a good idea. He couldn’t help it though, glimpses and random information made their way through his brain; it started slowly, but they were getting overwhelming.

Peter Benjamin Parker. Oh, he could then remember, he lived in Queens with his aunt—

The light hit him.

Peter gasped. He was in a bed; a soft and expensive looking bed, where was he? What happened, had it been a dream, where was Aunt May?

Oh. Dead. Yes, he remembered it all then…

Aunt May was taking too long to come back home that day, it usually only took her thirty minutes to walk to the pharmacy and walk back. So, Peter decided to go after her, it had been more than one hour and a half.

His Spider-sense didn’t warn him. He saw her talking to the owner and smiled, relaxing immediately, and slowed down.

It happened too fast. A car at full speed showed up followed by three police cars. There was a shooting. Peter dodged the bullets that came to his direction barely processing what was happening. Aunt May didn’t.

He didn’t know what happened next, he didn’t remember. Maybe it had really been all a dream, for all he knew he was at a stranger’s house and could’ve been drugged. No one drugged Spider-Man that easily, though.

He didn’t like thinking about it.

All his questions were answered when the door opened. Mr. Stark.

“Hey, kid,” he said slowly, seemingly carefully picking his few words.

Peter looked around one more time. He needed answers. “What happened?”

Mr. Stark’s eyes went wide to his voice, and that made Peter wonder even more. Mr. Stark getting surprised at something, him specifically, wasn’t a common occurrence at all, Peter could count the times he had seen him with wide eyes on his fingers. And most of them happened while in battle.

The billionaire made his way to sit down on the bed, beside Peter. “You went through some heavy dissociation, Pete.”

Peter figured that. He could see the man hesitating and sighed tiredly. “You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

“There was a robbery—”

Peter threw his hands up exasperatedly. “Mr. Stark!” His voice noticeably broke through the outburst and he had to hold in some tears that insisted in coming out. “Please,” he asked.

Mr. Stark took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes. “May’s dead.”

Peter sometimes had nightmares about this day. May would get shot just like Uncle Ben, be killed by an enemy who discovered his secret identity, die from an illness she hadn’t told him about. He always told himself this moment wouldn’t happen so soon, that they still had a lifetime to enjoy.

Shock, he knew he was probably in shock. The tears that threatened to fall had made their way back in and his eyes got dry. He kept repeating the fact over and over on his head, expecting his brain to process it so he could cry.

He was so tired of hiding, lying and making excuses, but he did it all for May. She deserved the best, she deserved to live. She was dead then. There was no reason to stay in Queens, no reason to hide Spider-Man, no reason to anything. No reason to live.

No, he couldn’t do anything. He quickly promised himself he would never reach to suicide or self-harm, Aunt May would be so sad. Ned probably would, too. Peter was so glad to have Ned.

Peter kept staring at the floor. He was so tired of mourning, of grief. He couldn’t help but feel drained; his shoulders were heavy and his legs wouldn’t move an inch.

Mr. Stark was quiet.

“For how long was I… out?”

He wondered if Mr. Stark was surprised again, maybe he was expecting him to cry his eyes out, hell, Peter had been expecting that. He resisted the urge to smile; he had been able to surprise Mr. Stark twice in less than thirty minutes. That would be morbid though.

“Almost two weeks,” the older man answered and shifted on his place. “Look, Peter, you’re probably in shock and—”

“I want to move to Massachusetts.”

Peter was accepted in MIT. He had been so happy and so excited to tell Aunt May and Ned, he was preparing a dinner to celebrate. Aunt May never received the news. She would want him to follow his dreams, though, wouldn’t she?

He would move, then, and study a great deal. He would get a PhD in biochemistry and a master’s degree in biophysics, but he wouldn’t ever stop studying, just like he promised her. He would make Aunt May proud.

“Peter, what?” Mr. Stark sounded so confused. That was the first time Peter could read him so easily, he was never this expressive.

Peter smiled melancholically. “I was accepted in MIT. I know she’d be proud, want me to move. She’d cry, too, because she’s— was…” He took a deep breath. “She was so affective. She’d give me a hug every morning, did you know that? Every single morning, and tell me she loved me.”

Mr. Stark looked lost, he kept looking him in the eyes and squinting his own, probably wondering if Peter was sleep-talking or something.

“I just want to leave New York,” he said, and his voice sounded so broken he wanted to punch himself.

His chest hurt a lot. He couldn’t cry, but he felt so hurt, like he’s just lost a part of himself. Which he’s pretty sure he, in fact, did. May was everything to him; she was his happiness, his safe space, his home. Then that she was gone? Peter knew he didn’t have a place, a thing, anymore.

Ned was a saint, his best friend, someone who probably knew him better than himself, someone to trust and love, but he couldn’t replace Aunt May. No one ever could.

Mr. Stark never really mentored him. Peter could see that his ego was too big to even admit he was wrong sometimes. That didn’t change much of how Peter saw him, he was still a hero, a genius, a man to admire; but never home.

So what would it hurt to move? Queens could find a new superhero; half of it never really seemed to truly appreciate him at all. They would be fine without him. Ned would understand.

Mr. Stark hesitated a lot, looked around, glanced at Peter and even played with his hands before saying, “Okay.”

Peter smiled at him; no word was necessary, he knew his look was enough to understand what he was trying to say. He hugged him then.

He knew Mr. Stark was never a huggable person, but sometimes Peter could see how touch starved he got— subtly approximating himself to people, the way he fell asleep and always hugged something, how he sometimes glanced way too many times at Peter’s fluffy and messy hair.

Mr. Stark hugged back. His tension all went away, Peter noticed, and he kissed Peter’s head. “Just stay safe, okay? I can help pay your tuition and other things. We’ll find you a nice, sophisticated apartment next to campus so you don’t have any issues with that.” He released the younger hero and looked him in the eyes. “And you’ll call me, alright? Just like you did back in high school, hit me with full patrol reports, kid.”

Peter smiled shyly and nodded. He wouldn’t do that; he knew it, but Mr. Stark looked genuinely worried and even sad, his brows frowned and a soft look in his eyes. It made his chest ache a little more.

“Now, do you want to get your things now or would you rather cool down for some time?” He asked.

“I’d rather do it now, if it’s not a bother.”

Mr. Stark snorted, walking him to the door and out. “A bother, of course it’s not a bother, Pete, I’m a billionaire, I have people do those things for me.”

Peter smiled and followed him to wherever he was going. He spaced out of whatever the man was saying about one minute in. Mr. Stark didn’t seem to notice or care, so Peter just kept focusing on the quiet his mind provided him with.

The moment Peter blinked he was in a car, stopped right in front of his then old apartment. Mr. Stark looked concerned, but Peter brushed it off with a smile. He got out of it and stared at the door for a moment before stepping in.

It didn’t feel like two weeks have been gone through. Well, he did dissociate for those, but it still didn’t feel right. The place was the same, of course it was, no damage, no bullet holes, after all the shooting had took place on the corner. It didn’t feel right.

Peter walked up to their— his apartment and hesitated to open the door. It smelled like home, faint sweet perfume and burned food.

He opened it.

Peter didn’t know what he expected, but not seeing half of the furniture there made him even more uncomfortable. It was so unsettling, so wrong and so weird, it didn’t _look_ like home. It smelled the same, however, and that only added more confusion to his senses.

“Peter?”

Oh right, Mr. Stark was with him. Peter ignored completely his name being called and entered his bedroom. It was the same. No furniture missing, no painted walls, nothing was out of place.

He felt like throwing himself on the bed, hugging his blanket as hard as he could and crying until he fell asleep; hopefully to wake up and find out it was all a terrible dream.

Peter didn’t do that, however. He picked up one of his bags and threw inside the clothes he had hanging around. There weren’t much, considering May didn’t have the money to buy him new ones, and what he owned was either one size smaller or Ben’s. He didn’t pack the smaller pieces.

Ben’s clothes didn’t smell like him anymore, though, and when Peter found out, he cried a bit over them.

Getting up from his spot, he headed to May’s bedroom. Missing furniture, cleaned window and different carpet. It made him want to cry. He didn’t know if Mr. Stark asked them to clean it or if the owner of the building already had someone on the waiting list to live there.

He opened her closet and there were a few things left behind. A pair of brown work boots, really old and worn out— Peter packed it. A floral, yellow sundress, it smelled like May’s perfume, the one she’d wear when she went out on a date or meeting— Peter packed it.

He opened the door to her bathroom, and as expected, nothing. He needed it, though, so he looked through the cabinets. There, on the very back of the last cabinet, was Aunt May’s date perfume— he packed it without thinking twice.

It felt inappropriate to go through her things like that and take them without even asking. To Peter, it’d barely been a day since he last saw her, and then he was packing her things. How weird, wasn’t it.

Before stepping out of it, he looked at the bedroom one more time. He felt an urge to stay, an urge to scream bloody murder and beg for May’s life back, but Peter wasn’t a lunatic. He still felt like doing it, so maybe he was starting to get crazy after all he’s been through.

Peter walked past Mr. Stark, who didn’t even look offended, and stepped back into the car.

“We’re… not having a late funeral, right?” he asked so quietly. “I don’t… There aren’t many people that’d show up and I don’t think—” He stopped, thinking of a way to say it without sounding rude. “They’d just be there out of sympathy and pity, not for her.”

Mr. Stark nodded slowly. He was uncharacteristically quiet and understanding, but Peter knew well why. It made things slightly more awkward, nevertheless.

He still couldn’t get out of his mind that he was in shock, that maybe he’d even regret those decisions once some sense was slapped into his face.

The next stop they made was to the cemetery. Peter was glad that even though he didn’t say anything, Mr. Stark knew what he was thinking. He didn’t leave the car’s side this time, and Peter nodded him a “Thank you”.

May’s grave was right beside Ben’s. That, Peter knew was Mr. Stark’s doing and he couldn’t be more thankful for it.

As melancholic and disturbing it may have sounded, he thought it was beautiful, their graves side by side, the colorful flowers. Peter believed they were happy, especially then that they were back together.

He looked at them both, then at his feet. “I’ll miss you so much,” he whispered. “I’ll miss your daily hugs and praises. Your badly cooked lasagna, your cherry pies, our takeout Fridays. Your crazy nurse stories, the way you talked about Ben and I. Your hugs, your cuddles and forehead kisses.”

Peter felt tears falling over the floor. “I’ll miss you so much, May. You’re so important to me; I don’t think you ever realized how— how much you mean. You’re my world. I guess I never told you that. I’m so sorry, ‘I love you’ and ‘I larb you’ weren’t ever enough to describe how I feel about you.

“I never once called you ‘Mom’. Did you wish I’d do that? I really wanted to, sometimes. You’re my best friend, May, you can’t just— you can’t leave me like this. You can’t.”

Peter took a moment to calm himself down, taking deep breaths. “I took your boots, your floral dress and your perfume. You know, the one you only use—d when you thought the occasion was important. I love the smell of it.”

Rubbing his nose with the end of his sleeve, he sniffed. “Do you think I can pull off a dress? It’d be a way to enter MIT, don’t you think?” He smiled sadly. “I never showed you the letter. I am so sorry.

“I should’ve— you know, I should have saved you back then. I’m sure I could’ve, if I’d tried a bit harder. But I was so goddamn selfish, wasn’t I? I just— I just dodged those and didn’t even think about you.” Peter pulled his hair. “Just like Ben. I am so sorry, May, so, so sorry—”

“Peter,” someone from behind said and touched his shoulder.

His immediate response was to grab the arm and bring the person down. It was Mr. Stark.

Peter immediately let go of him, apologizing endlessly as he tried to clear the billionaire’s then dirty suit. “I am so incredibly sorry, Mr. Stark, I don’t know what I was thinking—”

The older man scoffed. “I shouldn’t have surprised you like that, Underoos, this is on me.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence; Peter managed to calm himself down while Mr. Stark worriedly looked at him.

“Ready to go?”

No, he wasn’t. He didn’t think he would ever be ready to leave May behind like this; he was barely able to forget Ben’s death and not let it affect his daily life. He felt like doing many things, crying, screaming, punching, pulling all of his hair out.

Instead, he nodded.

* * *

The apartment Mr. Stark got Peter was two blocks away from campus. It was nice to say at least. Peter didn’t want it to be enormous and fancy— like everything the philanthropist owned— so it was kind of small. There was already furniture, but space enough to settle down his things; it was very minimalistic and modern, so much different from Aunt May’s apartment.

Cambridge was a nice place. It was way smaller than New York, so quieter and less crowded. As much as Peter would miss Queens, he could live a happy life in a small city. He knew it was expensive, especially when he was so close to a university, so he thanked Mr. Stark multiple times.

He still had a few days before the academic year started, using that time to get used to living by himself and the new place. He went to a walk to get to know the neighborhood, spotting a lot of coffee shops.

Ned had only called once within the four days he had been there, which was really saddening, because he couldn’t meet him before he moved. Peter didn’t say anything however; he didn’t want to make his friend feel bad for something he couldn’t control.

He met up with MJ on the day of the move, and he couldn’t say it was pleasing. A lot of the things she said made him think and almost reconsider most of the choices he’d made. “You’re leaving, Peter, do you know what that truly means? You’ll be alone. You always save everyone, but who’s going to save _you_ then?” she asked. Peter didn’t answer.

Mr. Stark said a limited amount of words to him the whole process, which consisted of ten. Peter didn’t know if he didn’t know what to say, if he was angry at him for something, or if it was something else. He didn’t say anything however; he knew Mr. Stark would pretend he wasn’t avoiding a real conversation.

There was a lot going on with Peter’s life, and he wasn’t sure how to feel. The night he moved and he lied down, noticing how the place smelled like paint, floor soap and coffee from the shop down the street, he cried.

Peter cried for a lot of things, for how he already missed his old home, how Ned and Mr. Stark were most probably avoiding him in general, how lonely he felt, but mainly for May. He finally broke from the shock and cried for hours until he fell asleep on his wet pillow.

The next day, Peter took May’s perfume and went to the nearest perfumery, asking for the same product. The employees were incredibly sweet to him, though Peter dared guess it was because he looked like a mess and about to burst into tears— which, to be honest, he was.

He immediately applied it when he got to his place. He hugged himself as he sat down on the sofa, in front of the turned off TV, and mourned silently. While he stared off into nothing, Peter thought of ways to reduce the loneliness feeling, he was starting to feel annoyed at himself already.

He didn’t move until the next morning, nevertheless. He slept on the sofa because he couldn’t bring himself to move an inch, barely even moving his head; he could only be glad for Mr. Stark for the comfortable surfaces.

Peter wasn’t even sure at what time he woke up. The sun was already in the middle of the sky, though, so he could deduce it was past the time he usually got up, way past from it.

Peter needed to get groceries; he hadn’t eaten for a day. He knew it was unhealthy and concerning, but was too scared he would reach for more drastic coping mechanisms, so he let it slide.

He got up and breathed. He looked at himself and sighed, what he saw was the exact opposite of what May would’ve wanted of him. He ignored any intrusive thoughts as he put on May’s boots and got out of his apartment.

Peter felt weak and exhausted, even though he had only made his way down the stairs. He dragged himself to the closest market and bought a few vegetables and nutritive food, because what he least needed at the moment was to fill himself with junk and gross stuff.

He had a bit of a complex, even if he’d never admit it. Peter hated to look himself in the mirror or be shirtless after eating, he felt too self-conscious of his stomach; he knew that that was normal, but he couldn’t help but feel bad.

He had joined a bit of a diet then, eating as healthy as May’s bank account would allow, and it wasn’t then, because he was grieving, that he would break his own rules and eat greasy and oily food.

Peter ignored the concerned look the cashier sent him, grabbed his bags and headed back to the apartment. On the way back, though, he saw a showcase full of stuffed toys and pillows. He stopped in front of the store, looked at his reflection and took a deep breath. He entered the shop.

Peter wandered around, grabbing at least five different stuffed animals and a body pillow. The cashier didn’t send him any worried looks, they look tired too, and as selfish as it felt, Peter was glad he wasn’t being pitied at once.

The moment he got inside, he put down the bags in the kitchen counter and threw himself and the pillows on the bed, ignoring how it was difficult to breathe when laying down on his face.

The feeling of being surrounded by soft, cute little animals relaxed him greatly. He also felt less lonely and he may have quietly cried for some time before falling asleep again on wet sheets.

Peter woke up not even remembering when he fell asleep. He knew it had been a few hours and that on the next day; he’d have to wake up, get ready and go to college. The thought only was already tiring, but Peter knew that if he wanted to be someone, he’d have to give his best.

He got a glimpse of his open closet and saw his suit. Spider-Man had been missing for at least three weeks; he had to come back at some point, even if in another town. Peter sighed, looking outside, the moon was up and lighting the streets.

The feeling of spandex sticking to his skin gave him chills; it felt like it had been a really long time since he’d done this. He greeted Karen, who commented on his absence and how she missed him, and immediately overrode a few protocols so he could deactivate Baby Monitor Protocol and permanently delete Training Wheels protocol.

Peter also managed to give himself more authority over the A.I.; he was 18 then after all. She didn’t argue to his surprise, and he could finally hang up on Mr. Stark’s face and decide whether or not to call for help.

He sat on the top of the tallest building he found, the breeze calming him down, the moon bright up in the sky and the uncountable stars, which could be easily seen, then, far from the town lights, were beautifully spread. He didn’t regret going out as he thought he would, releasing bottled up anger he didn’t even knew he had on his way there, webbing up a two or three muggers.

He didn’t know for how long he sat there, observing the city from afar, and that was upsetting, because lately he really couldn’t keep up with time whatsoever. Peter wished the feelings of grief and mourn would be gone soon, he hated the depressive mood he constantly found himself in the past days.

It wasn’t going to get better before it got worse; he knew that, because he had just gone out as Spider-Man and did absolutely nothing whatsoever. He hoped no one had seen him, for they’d go around saying the hero didn’t help anyone despite being able to.

He went back a bit before the sun rose and set an alarm for an hour before class started. Peter took a deep breath as he undressed and took a bath, cleaning himself from the cold sweat the suit gave him and automatically relaxing as his body entered the water slowly.

Peter closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, held in and released for a few seconds. He repeated that exercise for some time before submerging completely. He was sad. Peter hated that feeling, he hated it so much. He emerged and tilted his head to the size, leaning into the tub; he would just relax for a second.

Peter woke up with a start. It was the first time he got up that day, but he felt like the only thing he had been doing was sleeping. He wasn’t wrong and he knew that, yet it still felt distressing and made him feel a little useless.

He sat up, looking for his phone that rested not quietly on the sink. He fell asleep on the tub. Peter tried not to think about how pathetic that sounded as he reached for the ringing phone and turned off the alarm.

Dragging himself out of the water and drying himself, Peter stared at May’s dress on the closet for a moment, sighed, picked his then only hoodie and sweatpants and put on the boots. Self-conscious of the drug dealer look, but not enough to change, Peter got his keys, bag and left.

As soon as he left, Peter stopped. The rushed steps, the cars, the people walking around and pushing him, the smell of coffee and trash—

“Hey, you okay, man?” a voice interrupted.

Peter nodded immediately and started to walk, muttering, “Yeah, thanks.”

He cursed at himself, he couldn’t repeat that, couldn’t keep remembering it every time he walked outside, he couldn’t let it be like Ben’s death all over again. Peter craved his nails into his palm and forced in deep breaths as he entered the coffee shop down the street.

Coffee wasn’t actually good. Peter didn’t like it, if he was to be honest. It was extremely bitter and sugar didn’t really help as he’d expect it to. Coffee was an addiction; he drank it not for the taste, but for the need of the caffeine in his life.

Peter walked up to the barista and asked for black coffee with two extra shots. They didn’t look very amused, and he could guess a lot of students asked for the same and probably even worse.

As Peter drank from his cup and left, he noticed how empty his stomach felt. He hadn’t eaten for three days then; he bought food but forgot to eat. That surely explained his exhaustion and extra sad mood. Promising himself to buy something in campus, he walked to MIT.

Peter left his first period and instantly felt bad. He couldn’t pay attention, he hadn’t taken any notes, he wasn’t even sure if he was conscious during the lecture. He felt bad for wasting Mr. Stark’s money like that, even though he did feel rather relieved he already knew most of the class.

It was all the same. Peter would walk in the class, sit down in the back, put his things down, even start writing some notes before he would zone out. He simply couldn’t focus on what the professors were saying and his muscles were starting to hurt.

In the end, Peter didn’t get anything to eat whatsoever. Everything was either expensive (for what he had with him) or way too caloric— and yes, he knew he needed it, but just the thought of eating such greasy food made him feel sick.

Peter tried his best to survive his walk back and to cook something with the things he had. He searched a few vegetarian recipes before picking one and poorly recreating it. It had to do, though, because he had no energy left to try and cook anything else.

After cleaning the kitchen, Peter opened his school bag and his notes. Unfinished was not enough, they were barely started. He quickly pulled a pen and searched the classes’ topics up, writing down what he knew and some information from the internet, hoping they had at least something to do with what the professors had been talking about.

He wrote down and solved exercises so he wouldn’t feel as guilty as he did after leaving classes, finally closing and putting away his things about two hours later. Repeating to himself he would pay attention to class the next day, Peter got up and headed to his bedroom.

This time without hesitating, Peter put the suit on and swung out of his apartment. He felt relaxed as soon as the wind went against his skin; it almost felt like flying, like freedom.

People were nice to him, way nicer than New Yorkers, and Peter couldn’t be gladder. The media had been treating him well for his first day so far, local newspapers welcoming him wholeheartedly. Those who he helped in the streets were always kind and sometimes even asked for an autograph, which Peter was always glad to give.

While swinging after stopping a mugger, his spider-sense spiked. He mentally groaned, he had been about to go back, but realized it wasn’t a simple robber again. He led himself to a bank. Stopping and watching from afar to get more disclosure of what was happening, Peter saw three corpses on the ground, surrounded by blood, and two black vans.

The criminals were obviously still inside, but Peter couldn’t make it why the bodies seemed to be one of theirs— they wore black and masks— and why he heard screaming. They were fighting each other. No one else would be crazy enough to be outside at that hour, much less walk in a bank, would they?

As Peter silently entered the place, he heard more gunshots and music. He had thought it was coming from somewhere else, but no, someone inside was singing. The worst, Peter guessed, was that he knew the song very well; it was “People” by The 1975.

“ _We are appalling and we need to stop just watching shit in bed_ ,” the person sang. “ _And I know it sounds boring and we like things that are funny_ …”

When Peter could finally see who was shooting, instead of jumping in, he stopped in his tracks. It was Deadpool.

“ _But we need to get this in our fucking heads_ ,” the mercenary sang and shot another criminal in the head.

Peter needed to do something and fast. He couldn’t let Deapool kill them all, even if they were bad people. He decided to act like the man wasn’t there for the meantime and deal with him later.

“ _The economy's a goner, republic's a banana, ignore it if you wanna_ ,” he continued to sing as Peter webbed a criminal to the wall and jumped at another. “ _Fuck it, I'm just gonna get girls, food, gear._ ”

As Peter fought one of the guys, Deadpool had another on his grip while he danced around. He was crazy, there couldn’t be any other explanation, just, what was he doing?

“ _I don't like going outside, so bring me everything here_.” The mercenary threw the guy at a wall, but before he could shoot him again, Peter caught him with a web and brought him close, knocking him out instead.

“ _Yeah, woo, yeah_ ,” Deadpool sang and threw his hands up. “Yeah, baby, we make a great team! I mean, if you would stop preventing me from killing these bad boys, we’d make an even greater team!”

Peter was panting heavily. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared, because he realized he was slightly shaking. “Sorry,” he muttered.

He didn’t know much about Deadpool, and that was the problem. Everyone knew he was Wade Wilson, he didn’t really hide his identity; Peter had found out in deeper research that he wore a mask because of his scars.

The mercenary’s powers were a result of an experiment, which was supposedly one to cure his cancer. He was already a mercenary before gaining super-human abilities.

That’s it. That’s all Peter had on Deadpool, no fighting styles, no weaknesses, no specific powers, no explanation on how he brought himself back after dying. He only knew the man always carried two katanas and multiple guns around.

Peter didn’t know if he would die on his hands or if the mercenary was genuine about them making a good team. Deadpool was unpredictable, and Peter hated that.

“That’s fine, Spidey-boo, I’ll let it slide, because holy crap I finally got to meet you!” he squeaked and got closer.

Avoiding brusque movements, Peter crossed his arms and tried to act as relaxed and unimpressed as possible.

“I mean, I was going to stay in Queens for a while, but you disappeared! Then you came back, and here I am! I’ve been dreaming of this day for so long, you wouldn’t believe me.” Deadpool stopped in front of him and offered his hand. “Hi, I’m your favorite not-friendly neighborhood Deadpool!”

Silence filled the room for some seconds, as Peter didn’t know if the man was serious or not. He looked the man in front of him where he supposed were his eyes before asking, “What?”

“Well, that was awkward,” Deadpool said quietly and pulled his hands back. “I’m saying I’m your biggest fan, Spidey! You should see— no, wait, you shouldn’t, but I have a giant collection of Spider-Man merch. Really. My favorite is this very cute, small, soft plushy of you.” He motioned squishing something small with his hands, looking at it while he talked.

Peter couldn’t hold back. He furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “I have plushies?”

It was visible how Deadpool relaxed when he said that. Peter could swear he saw the man smile, but what he said made him want to question how later. “I think we should discuss people making money out of you without your consent on another place, Spidey, soon the police will be here.”

Peter nodded, averting his eyes from the dead corpses on their way out.

They walked— climbed— for a while and stopped on the top of a building. Peter sat on the edge, looking up and asking himself why he was doing that to himself. Something in the back of his mind thought that maybe Deadpool wasn’t that bad, but he had to be ready for the worst.

“So, do you know the absolute masterpiece I was singing back there? Because I’ll tell you what, I love that band. I’d say it’s my favorite, but literally nothing overcomes _Queen_. And, I mean, the _Spice Girls_ are awesome too. Ugh, I just can’t choose, man.”

Peter ignored the change of subject; he could look for plushies of himself later, and smiled. “Yeah, I think that’s my favorite song from them. I like the lyrics.”

Deadpool nodded rapidly. “Yeah, old arrogant people just suck sometimes. I’m a Gen X, isn’t that so ironic?” He giggles. “Wait, you didn’t get it. Of course you didn’t get it, you didn’t unlock my tragic background story yet, we just met!”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Y’know, we could change that. If you wanna. ‘Cause I mean, consent’s really sexy; I don’t do nothin’ without it.”

Peter smiled softly. “That’s really thoughtful of you. You don’t need to be nervous, by the way, you’re slurring your words.”

Deadpool stayed silent for a second before laughing. “You already know me so well, Spidey! Was that a yes?”

“To being your friend?” Peter asked. “Sure, I could use some company. We can patrol together, I guess.”

He really didn’t know what he was doing. Agreeing to be friends with a deadly mercenary, a possibly crazy man, someone Peter knew close to nothing about. But he was lonely. He couldn’t allow himself to sink more than he already had; what would he do if he got worse? There was no way he would talk to Mr. Stark about it, they barely talked anymore. Ned, well, Peter hadn’t heard from Ned in a while too.

There were two outcomes to his response: one that was really good, resulting in him going back to his usual optimistic, nerdy and happy self; other that was really bad, resulting in him getting brutally tortured and murdered by the man that sat by his side.

Praying for gods he didn’t even believe in, Peter hoped Deadpool was a good person. Or as good as someone like him could be, he guessed. He’d also have to be extra careful about his secret identity; he never worked with other people regularly before.

“Oh sweet baby Jesus, this is the best day of my life!” Deadpool said, getting up and looking at him. “Can I hug you? I mean, it’s kinda weird, but can I hug you?”

Peter grimaced, apologetically saying, “Sorry, you aren’t high enough level to unlock that action yet.”

It’s not that Peter didn’t like physical affection, on the contrary, he craved it; but he had just met the man. He would get to his apartment and sleep hugging a bunch of stuffed animals, surrounded by pillows, but he couldn’t hug Deadpool. As much as he prayed the man to be good, he didn’t trust him yet.

Deadpool chuckled, sitting down by his side again. “Eh, that’s fine. Wait a minute. You ain’t jailbait, are you? ‘Cause I mean, you’re so small, and you have these strict morals of not even cursing in battle, and no offense, but your voice is kinda—”

“Wow, okay, will you stop comparing me to a kid already? I’m not underage, Deadpool, I won’t tell you my age, but I know for sure I’m not jaibait,” Peter said in a jokingly angry tone.

Deadpool seemed to examine his posture, squinting his eyes at him. “Yeah, okay, I’ll only believe you because there’s no way in hell your parents would let you out in that tight suit to fight baddies.”

Peter snorted dryly. “Yeah, no way.”

The man didn’t seem to get the reason behind his laugh, but that was good, because it was better if he didn’t know that he was an orphan.

They sat in silence, a comfortable one, appreciating the starry sky for a while. It was nice, feeling someone else’s presence there with him was way more reassuring he thought it’d be. It was somewhat weird too, because from what he’d gathered, Deadpool was known as The Merc With a Mouth.

The man was lying down with his hands under his head. He startled Peter as he said, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Y’know, for accepting being ma friend. Offering to patrol together. You don’t need to do those out of pity, really, I’d understand if you just said no.” Deadpool sounded so quiet it scared him a bit.

It scared him because the man he was talking to was not even anything near the man he had studied so briefly. He was clearly insecure; it probably had to do with his scars and other heroes not wanting to be around him, and a funny guy from what he’d seen.

Peter sat up, trying to look as serious as possible. “I wasn’t saying it out of pity. I genuinely invited you to patrol with me, because I always work alone, and we all need to try something new every now and then, right?”

He knew Deadpool could probably notice his lies. He knew how obviously lonely he was, it was noticeable from the way he acted, even talked sometimes. But if he noticed anything, the mercenary didn’t say anything.

“Aight then, just wanted to clarify that,” Deadpool said and sat up in front of him.

Peter smiled. “I better get going now, see you tomorrow?”

Deadpool nodded repeatedly. “Same place, same time!”

Sending him a thumb up as Peter swung away, he smiled at himself. He wasn’t proud of himself, not at all; just a little happy he managed to get himself a friend. He couldn’t let himself get too close to him though, he didn’t want to end up revealing his identity to someone he couldn’t trust.

Well, maybe Deadpool would end up changing his mind; maybe he would prove himself to be one of the best friends Peter’d have. Or maybe Peter was just upset with Ned and having high expectations on something impossible.

Either way, Peter would still have to go back to his expensive looking, but, oh, so lonely apartment and fall asleep in his own tears and wet pillows every day. The memories of May’s death wouldn’t go away just because Deadpool entered his life.

They would get better with time, though; Peter just had to be patient. He had gone through the same thing with Ben; the only difference was that, back then, he didn’t have anyone by his side.

So maybe having Deadpool in his life wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: I turned the first page of this chapter into an essay and got an A+ on it! It was titled “Dissociation” and I’m very proud of how it turned out, translating English to Portuguese is quite the task, after all, especially when I wanted to use specific words that spoke for me.  
> By the way, this fanfic has taken me 5 months to write so far. I started on October of 2019 and finished chapter 7 just today, so that may be the reason of any inconsistency on my writing you notice. I can blame the bad writing and grammar on the fact that I'm 14, I suppose :).
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: anxiety attacks and eating disorder.
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with these themes, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

May’s favorite thing to do after coming home from work was playing with Peter’s hair. She would put down her things, take off her coat and boots, greet him with a forehead kiss and sit down on the living room’s floor, playing with his locks as they watched the news.

They would sit and talk about their days for hours long, simply enjoying each other’s presence and the sound of their voices. The feeling of May’s fingers through Peter’s hair was soothing and full of love. That was his favorite thing in the world.

May also had a lot of weird habits. She would talk to herself out loud, always having quiet discussions, and when Peter’d ask, she’d say, “It’s nothing, Pete, just configuring my systems.”

He’d make sure to ask every time. He loved to see her as she claimed that she needed a reboot, when she was tired and had to rest, and that she needed an upgrade, when she, frequently, overcooked something (“I always commit the same mistake, Peter, why can’t I just learn? Surely I need an upgrade.”).

The simple activity of being with her, listening to her heart as it beat, hearing her calm breaths and feeling her by his side was enough. May was the best thing that ever happened to Peter, he knew that, but then she was gone, and Peter didn’t think she knew those things.

He told her grave what she didn’t know, but that didn’t help the guilt that only seemed to get bigger inside him, it wasn’t enough. She didn’t know about Spider-Man. She didn’t know about MIT. Heck, she didn’t even know he was into guys.

Peter desperately tried to ignore the facts he’d just showed himself as he went out once again to get coffee and head to campus. He knew he was getting slower, too, it was easy to notice how unfocused and unobservant he’d been the past days and weeks.

The only action he’d faced in more than a month was the failed bank robbery with Deadpool the night before. Even then, however, he was sloppy and careless, which probably lead to the anti-hero thinking he was a bad fighter.

Lack of motivation, loss of appetite, sleep disturbance, recklessness, feeling needy and detached from others (even though there weren’t others to begin with), helplessness; he knew the symptoms better than someone his age probably should, and they were ones of grief.

It didn’t matter how many times he’d tell himself not to mourn, not to let the same things happen again, not to act and be like he was; he’d always end up the same way, sad. It was upsetting, as ironic as it was, he hated it, he hated what he was going through, hated it.

May’s death hit terribly hard. She was his last relative alive, neither she nor Ben had siblings, nor were her or Ben’s parents alive. There were not even close friends that he knew well; someone would show up from time to time and, when he was younger, bring him a treat, but that was it.

Holding the knowledge that he was the last Parker was overwhelming to say at least.

He was too young to be thinking of honoring and carrying his family’s name. He couldn’t promise to have children, for he didn’t know if he’d live long enough to want them. He couldn’t even promise to contribute to it, for he didn’t know if he’d be someone of importance enough.

Not that being Spider-Man wasn’t being someone of importance, it was just that no one knew that he was a Parker. So it didn’t really matter.

The only ones who knew about it were Ned, MJ and Mr. Stark. Not even the team knew, but for Peter, three people were already more than enough. He couldn’t risk anyone else’s life, already stressing enough about his friends.

The friends’ topic was also delicate. He’d talked to them _once_ for the three weeks he’d been gone, both physically and consciously. He didn’t know if they didn’t want to be his friends anymore, so he just didn’t refer to them with anything else but their names.

Peter entered his classroom as he sipped from his cup. He sat down and opened his notebooks. He would pay attention to class, he would write his notes and he would not space out. As the teacher came in, Peter took a deep breath and fixed his posture.

But his mind was running too fast. Too many thoughts, about May, about Ned, Mr. Stark, MJ, about his feelings and how they were bringing him down, about Spider-Man. He couldn’t focus.

Breathing was hard, his heart started beating rapidly and he started to feel dizzy. He knew he was having an anxiety attack, but he couldn’t simply stop thinking, and class had just started, in no way he’d ask to leave.

“Excuse me, Dr. Alvarez, may I take Parker to the office? He seems about to pass out.”

Peter’s head snapped up, looking for whoever was asking, but not even seeing or hearing the answer, he was helped to walk to the door. He knew he didn’t need help with that, he was just having a hard time trying to breathe, but the person helping him clearly didn’t.

“Thank you…” He said softly, trying to recognize the face of whoever was kind enough to care for him.

The man smiled. “I’m Kane. Also, no problem, I know well how anxiety can make your life fucking hard.”

They walked in silence, Peter trying to calm his mind, Kane quietly humming a song, until they sat down and he could take a deep breath, unknowingly pulling his hair way too hard when he put his head in his hands.

“Hey, man, go easy on yourself. I know it’s only the second day, but it happens, I’m sure Dr. Alvarez will understand, she seemed pretty worried when we left.”

Peter lifted his head, not looking at his classmate, but he nodded.

He felt like a nuisance, for getting the man out of class because of his stupid brain. He had also promised to focus and actually try to learn something, but there he was, sitting outside of class, trying and clearly failing to stop overthinking.

“I know who you are because of your recommendation letters. There was one written by Tony Stark, no? They said you had a secret internship with him,” Haze said, making small talk.

Peter nodded. Mr. Stark had, of course and unsurprisingly, sent a letter to MIT. He even made his internship official on documents, giving him a frame with an appreciation letter. Peter had, of course and unsurprisingly, tried to deny and say it wasn’t necessary, but it didn’t change anything.

“Mr. Stark is just as extra as the media makes him seem,” Peter said, finally looking at Haze.

The man chuckled and patted his shoulder. “You got anything to do tonight? There’s a party.”

Peter immediately thought of denying. Then, he thought of how rude it’d be of him to deny the guy who helped him without even knowing him well (even if it was just because of him knowing Mr. Stark). Plus, he couldn’t allow himself to say no, just so he’d go to his apartment to grieve and lament.

He looked at Haze, looked at his own hands, looked at the distance and back at Haze. He should accept, but he didn’t exactly trust himself to deny whatever they’d have there while going through and feeling what he was at the moment.

It shouldn’t even be a hard decision to make, it was just a party; but it’d been a hard day, and it had barely started whatsoever. Trying to make himself decide faster wasn’t helping either, just causing him to go even more anxious as Haze looked at him, waiting for an answer.

“No pressure, man, just thought it’d be nice to distract your mind a bit,” he said.

Haze spoke calmly. His voice was way gentler than May’s, or anyone he’d spoken to. It was the voice of someone you’d trust just for it. That trait, however, just put the man in Peter’s list of people not to immediately trust. Even if he was considering going to a party with him.

It was stressing, the fact that his body seemed to feel safe around someone just because of their voice and, if Peter would observe harder, body language. It stressed him because everything said that he was trustworthy, but that exact conclusion couldn’t be made so early, based on a superficial view.

“Sure,” he ended up saying, because it was getting unbearable not to answer such a simple question.

Haze smiled. “Perfect, give me your number, I’ll text you the details. No need to worry, too, it’s pretty low-key, just a few people I know.”

Peter nodded, giving the man his phone number as he beat himself for doing something so stupid. There was a high chance he’d get there and be kidnapped, sexually assaulted, beat up, killed. He was Spider-Man, but that didn’t really matter, he didn’t know who and how many people would be there.

A part of him knew that he was thinking too much, but as May said, “Better paranoid than dead.” So he allowed himself to think as much as he would, so then, he’d be prepared for any types of situation he was putting himself in.

As Haze patiently waited for Peter to calm down, they sat in comfortable silence. They both knew it’d take a while, and the hero didn’t bother asking if they’d go to the office, for there was no reason to at all. Peter didn’t need any medication or medical attention, just to take deep breaths and relax.

Peter found out that Haze was really good at keeping one-sided conversations. That didn’t mean he was annoyed or that he found the other man annoying, no, he was astonished by how understanding he was that Peter didn’t really feel like talking, but wanted to hear a familiar voice to loosen up.

Familiar wasn’t exactly the word, because they’d just met, but it sure did feel like something that he’d hear when a child, hiding under his blankets when there was a storm outside. Peter had to strongly hold onto himself not to fall asleep at a certain point.

“You alright there, bro? If I’m boring you, I can stop talking, just felt like you needed it,” Haze said, backing away a bit.

Peter shook his head, this time trying to wake up. “You’re just really good at this. You should try ASMR.” He was panic talking, he clearly wasn’t thinking before speaking out loud.

Haze chuckled, sitting back as he looked him in the eyes. “Have you been listening to anything I’m saying like, at all?”

Embarrassment was exactly the word Peter would use, because no, he hadn’t been paying attention. His body probably displayed the emotion for him, too, because Haze snorted.

“It’s alright, I’m just messing with you.” He grabbed his phone, unlocking it and opening an application. He put it on Peter’s hand so he could see. “It’s just that I was talking about my YouTube channel. Y’know, an ASMR channel.”

That explained a lot to Peter. He didn’t regularly listen to that kind of content, but when Ned first recommended it for studying, he’d looked it up. It was indeed, as he had said, relaxing and helped him focus more; even though there were some that bothered him, personally, it provided him some level of relaxation.

The young hero smiled. “I’m sorry for not listening. I just want to thank you, really, for doing what you did for me. You’re a really kind person.”

Peter held with him the thought that people didn’t appreciate each other enough. Many people, as he, himself sometimes, didn’t say what they were thinking, because they’re too shy or embarrassed to, but that could really make someone’s day better or maybe even their life.

So he would, from time to time, build courage enough to open his mouth and say what he thought. That someone’s hair was beautiful, that he really liked their shirt, their piercings and sometimes even stupid stuff like the way they pronounced a word.

He knew he did that, too, because he wanted to hear those things himself. Aunt May was awesome and supportive in every way, but he still had a lot of insecurities about his image and way that people saw him. Peter was anxious about everything; everyone close to him knew that.

Maybe not Mr. Stark, because he was never around, and maybe not Ned, because he was very anxious himself, but May and MJ had noticed it for sure. The thing was that they didn’t know how to help him, May had a lot of other things to worry about, and MJ probably didn’t care enough or felt close enough to try to talk to him about it.

So Peter tried to deal with his anxiety on his own. Which sucked. It sucked because often enough, his brain would betray him and contradict itself, so no matter how many times he’d tell himself it was okay to eat because it’d already been more than three hours, he would think, _But you got sushi with May yesterday, do you know how caloric that is?_ And similar.

The eating part had started to escalate considerably the past days, too. He’d actually spent a long period of time without eating, something he’d never done before, thanks to May. He knew that it was a problem, that he should probably tell someone about it, look for help. He didn’t, though, and didn’t plan on it so soon. He could handle it.

“It’s nothing, man, anyone would have done the same.”

He smiled and the clock hit time to go back inside. They parted ways; Peter thanked him one more time, and walked away to respective rooms. As Peter entered a different class, he noticed he had both his things and coffee with him. He needed to thank Haze one more time.

The other classes were gone with a blink. Peter wasn’t sure if he learned something or not, because he couldn’t remember a word his professors said, but he’d apparently wrote a lot of notes. He considered it to be a win.

He walked back feeling completely dethatched from reality. That, by his standards at least, was a bad thing, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to do something about it. He just wanted to get to his place, throw himself at his bed and feel the soft fabric of cute creatures hugging him.

Loneliness could really change a person. Knowing well how child-like he sounded, Peter did exactly as he wanted to. He didn’t fall asleep this time, however, just stood there, feeling, watching, hearing, sensing.

He had lots of things to do. Organize his things, complete homework, take a shower, debate whether or not to actually show up to the party so he could go out as Spider-Man earlier and maybe, just maybe, cook something.

Peter only didn’t want to do anything. Which, again, he knew were bad news. He continued to do nothing about it.

After who knows how long of losing repeatedly a staring contest with the ceiling, Peter got up and took a shower. He lazily spent an unnecessary long amount of time doing nothing again, just letting the water warm his body, before he dressed himself and started homework.

It was easy, but a lot. He also didn’t want to think he knew everything, because he didn’t, he was aware of that, he had to keep studying and learning new things. Peter didn’t want to become an arrogant, know-it-all, boring guy, and that was probably why he kept studying and doing his academic activities.

Of course, that’s what he said when people asked (they never did). He liked learning. He loved sitting down and reading a book he’s never read, discovering different point of views on things he was interested on, he loved it all. Some people thought it was weird, however, so he kept it to himself.

Darn his insecurities.

Just then he decided to go to the party, just because he was being a coward. He texted Haze, who told him the address and that he could show up any time. He didn’t change his clothes, knowing full well he looked homeless, because he was lazy.

It wasn’t really far; his phone said it should be an approximately 40 minute walk. Peter put on his earbuds, some music, and started to walk. He tried his best not to zone out, for he was still unfamiliar with the town, so he needed to know where he was going.

Fair enough, as expected, he got there after 30 minutes. It should’ve taken half of that, if he wasn’t being so lazy, but he shoved it aside as he knocked on the door. No one answered, but he could hear loud and muffled music, so he put away his own and entered the house.

The first thing he noticed was that Haze’s definition of low-key was completely different from his. There were a lot of people, the air strongly smelled like alcohol and Cannabis, and the party’s host couldn’t be seen anywhere.

It was the exact same situation Peter had been trying to avoid. Had it been a kidnapping, he’d be happier— he could get away with it way easily. A college party? Not so easy.

He’d give it a try. He’d never been to an actual party since Homecoming, and there’d have to be at least a few differences between a college and high school party. He tried telling himself he’d be fine as he walked past people he didn’t know, some who were grossly making out with each other, some who were quietly smoking in peace.

Peter admitted that he didn’t actually expect people to smoke so openly, but that’s because he was never really out. He went out as Spider-Man, but he never got a drug dealer or user arrested. He’d never spotted one, actually, so maybe he’d have to be more attentive.

Giving up on finding Haze, he walked to the backyard. Not so crowded, where music wasn’t blasting loudly, so he just sat down and closed his eyes.

The music was still very overwhelming. He could hear people’s steps, laughs, breaths, it was terrible. He put his hands over his ears, hoping it would all go away.

He knew he shouldn’t have gone. Should’ve stayed at his place, maybe gone out as Spider-Man, at least he’d have seen Deadpool. He should do that. But the merc said, “Same time,” and Peter had no idea what time it was when they met.

He got to his apartment around three in the morning that day, but that was the usual. They could’ve met at eight, they could’ve met at two, Peter hadn’t been able to keep track of time the past weeks. Making the logical decision instead of beating himself up for not knowing something so stupid, he searched about the robbery and found out it took place around ten.

It was currently half past ten and that meant he was late. It also meant that he had spent an unreasonable amount of time doing nothing at his place, and that was an indicator to the fact that he was getting worse. And it also got him thinking that he was at a party in the middle of the week.

Just when he was about to get up, he heard someone walk to him. He stood in place, not even daring to look back. He hoped they’d leave him alone; he really wasn’t in the mood.

“Hey, Pete, didn’t think you’d actually come!” It was Haze’s voice.

Turning around, he could point out at least four signals that the man was drunk and gone. He was slurring his words, to start. He also smelled like a lot of different substances, but it was getting mixed with the other scents of the place.

“Hi, um, I was actually—” Peter stopped. He didn’t want to be rude, he had just got there. “About to go back. Yeah, I forgot something.”

Peter hated lying. He hated that he kept lying. He hated that it was the first thing that came to mind when he had to face a situation he didn’t want to be in. But Haze wasn’t lucid, so he could get away with that one, right?

“Wha’? But I just got to talk with you, man! What you gon’ get, anyway, we’ve everythin’ here!”

Haze was gripping around his shoulder with an arm. It made Peter feel extremely uncomfortable and out of place, but he couldn’t be angry, Haze wasn’t thinking, it was fine. He just needed to leave.

“I need— um, my meds. Yeah, I forgot to take them and I really can’t go without it. I’ll be back, really,” Peter tried.

Haze spun them around, taking Peter along with him as they walked. He was incoherently mumbling something about dreams and Tony Stark. The young hero really wished he’d stay around to talk about whatever he was on about, and maybe explain why he wouldn’t take him to meet Mr. Stark. But he was drunk, so Peter allowed himself to let go.

“I’m really sorry, Haze, but I have to go,” he whispered as he freed himself from the other’s grip.

He tried not to look like he needed to be out of there desperately, but he couldn’t help that he was walking fast. He could hear the guy’s complains, it was a really bad idea to go back then. He didn’t actually think Haze had befriended him just so he’d meet a celebrity, but he knew he was naïve, so it wasn’t a surprise.

He couldn’t shake the thought that if anything happened to the man that night, regardless of him not helping him get drunk like that, it’d be his fault.

He sprinted to his apartment, taking, gladly this time, half the time he took to get there. He wasn’t even sure why he was in such rush, nor did he care. He just needed to be out of that place, he guessed.

He put on his suit and sighed in relief almost immediately. That still didn’t help the fact that Deadpool could be waiting for him, and it’d been almost an hour. With that in mind, he jumped through the window and swung to the bank they’d met.

Surprisingly, there wasn’t anyone there. Either Deadpool was standing him up, or he was just as ridiculously late as he was. He decided to wait and see, so he climbed the flower shop just in front of the bank and sat there.

From what he could see, the flowers on display were actually really pretty. Peter didn’t see flower shops very often, but he could tell when a flower was being well treated and when the owner was just in it for the money. They looked healthy and their colors really stood out individually.

The place was called “Auntie’s Safe Place”. Peter didn’t know how to react, were his eyes tricking him? He blinked one, twice, nothing changed. It had to be a joke.

He got down and actually, carefully eyed the place. It was clean, organized and just presented a home-like ambience. Peter couldn’t figure it if he hated or loved it. He just knew he’d definitely visit the shop at an appropriate hour.

He went up again and lay down, arms and legs spread open, just looking at the stars. He started to localize the constellations he knew, because after all the times he’d been staring at the sky at night, he needed to do some research at some point.

Peter was getting sleepy, his eyelids getting heavy, when his nose picked on something. Tacos. He couldn’t get up, but he knew that there was someone eating tacos somewhere close. He’d love to get some, too, but if he got one, he’d eat another, and another, and there’d go all of his calories for the day.

Plus, it was almost the end of the day; he shouldn’t eat heavy things before going to bed. (He wasn’t going to bed, and he hadn’t had anything to eat besides a cup of coffee. He should eat.)

“Hey, Spidey, sorry I’m late, but I just saw these babies and I needed to get ‘em, you know how it is.”

Deadpool. He hadn’t actually been expecting the mercenary anymore, but there he was. And he had tacos. Peter opened his eyes and the man was right above him, which made the view slightly terrifying.

He slowly got up and looked at him. Deadpool had with him two white bags, and they obviously contained tacos. Peter felt like a wild animal, he could attack him and get that food at any moment.

“Hi,” he said, instead.

Deadpool’s head tilted to the side as he sat in front of him with his legs crossed, putting down the bags.

“You alright?”

The question set him off. Was he acting odd? It was probably the sleepy state, but it could also be that Deadpool was just really good at reading people. Peter didn’t want people around him to worry, so he tried not to show his emotions too much, but had that been working lately at all?

Peter nodded and tilted his head to the side as well. He still couldn’t take his eyes off of the tacos, trying incessantly to stop and make his brain ignore the fact that he was hungry, but it wasn’t an easy task.

“Don’t wanna sound judging, I mean, I’ve been there, but you smell like pot.”

Peter genuinely wondered for a second why he would smell like that. He then took a second to understand that Deadpool sounded concerned for him, and that was really sweet of him.

“Oh. Do I? Should’ve taken a shower at least.” He tried to sound easygoing and even talkative, as he usually was, but was clearly failing at the moment.

The masked man snorts, opening the boxes and getting a taco out. It looked extremely tasty, Peter felt like he needed it, like a thirsty twelve year old would at One Direction back at the times, but he tried his best to hide it.

“You know, we don’t even know each other and all that jazz, but if you need to talk, I’m here for ya.” He said, took a bite and pushed the other box towards Peter. “Accept it as a thank you for letting me patrol with you.”

There were a lot of wrong things on what he just heard. Peter looked at the box and at the man in front of him. He couldn’t help but smile. Deadpool was showing him to be the exact opposite of what the rumors about him were.

Even if it was such a small act like offering food and a shoulder to cry, Peter could tell he was being truthful. Maybe he wasn’t used to people treating him nicely, maybe he was an extremely great actor and was trying to fool him so he could kidnap and murder him; it didn’t really matter at the moment.

Peter was just glad he was talking to someone at all. Someone that wasn’t under any influence or that was just talking to him because he knew someone of importance. Deadpool was just as happy as he was. They were both lonely, that he knew for sure.

“I don’t— I was at a party,” he said. “I wasn’t smoking, but some people were. Left early, too many people, too many sounds, yeah. Don’t actually like them.”

He was avoiding the taco. He knew he’d feel guilty for eating it, both for Deadpool’s money and his own consciousness. There were three tacos, and that was too much; maybe if it was only one, he’d take it, but three? No way.

Meanwhile, the merc had already finished his and started to eat the second. He cleaned his mouth before saying, “Eh, I get you. Don’t like ‘em either.”

Peter nodded and tried to avoid both watching the other eat and the food that sat right in front of him, begging to be eaten. When was the last time he ate, anyway? Some tacos wouldn’t kill him; he could just eat one of them and be fine.

That would be risking going way more time without eating again, though. He couldn’t trust himself, but again, he had a fast metabolism, he didn’t even know how he survived those days without food.

“You don’t like tacos?”

And just like that, in a blink, Deadpool’s tacos were gone. Peter looked at him and at his own box, already knowing what the other wanted. He smiled softly and pushed it towards him.

“Yeah, I’m just not hungry,” he lied.

Deadpool actually looked a bit hesitant, making Peter wonder if he was such a bad liar, but he soon took them and started eating. Well, that meant no food for him, at least for the night. He could eat something the next morning; he wouldn’t die because of tacos.

After finishing, Deadpool sighed and got up, stretching like as he was about to start his morning jog. He quietly threw the trash on a bin not so far (he did hit it) and extended a hand so Peter could get up too.

“It’s time to fight crime, Webs! Get ‘em bad guys and hit ‘em good! Come on!” he jumped excitedly like a child.

Peter smiled. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They fought a lot of crime that night, more than Peter thought they would. The criminals were challenging him, testing the grounds, how far would Spider-Man go? They even kidnapped a child. They didn’t know he had Deadpool with him, though.

Peter didn’t restrict him of killing or hurting them. He wouldn’t ever try to change a person in order of them fitting his own morals, that was a crazy concept. He had his ways of dealing with bad people, and Deadpool had his own.

The only time he told him to hold back, was during the child kidnapping. They didn’t want to risk getting the kid hurt or traumatizing them at such young age. They got them back safe and sound, at the end of the night.

“Hey, honey, what’s your name?” Deadpool approached them with an amount of softness Peter didn’t know he owned.

They already knew their name, Azumi, because it was their mother who’d contacted Deadpool. It was supposed to be a job for him only, Peter even offered not interfering, but the mercenary said he wasn’t good at keeping things clean.

The kid talked with the merc the whole travel back home, rambling about their favorite show. It didn’t even look like they’d just been kidnapped and held at gunpoint. Deadpool was patient and good with kids, Peter noticed.

It hadn’t been a difficult job, and there was no way he’d accept the money, even when Deadpool was shoving it on his face. “I really can’t take it, it was _your_ job.”

He threw his hands up, making dollars fly around. They’d been discussing this for minutes, but Peter wouldn’t take it. He couldn’t.

“Luv, you’re the reason that kid’s not got PTSD for life! I’m sure I’d have made it hell, come on.”

Peter was also really glad for his mask at that point. Deadpool wouldn’t stop calling him pet names, and as though he’s never been called them before, he absolutely loved it. It was just that he could feel his ears burn every time he would come up with a different one.

He sighed. “I just don’t need it! Look, Mr. Stark’s the one who provides me everything and he’s super rich, I really don’t need the money.”

It sounded really wrong, like maybe he was abusing of the billionaire’s bank account, but that shut Deadpool up. He looked him up and down, making Peter wonder what was going through his mind.

“Iron Tin funds you?” He sounded more surprised than he probably should.

Peter’s shoulders slack in relief of the subject change. He nods quietly, helping the mercenary pick up the dollars from the floor.

Apparently, he thought Spider-Man worked alone (technically, he did) and that he built his suit on his own (technically, he helped design most of it). He even asked if he was an Avenger, to which Peter, just for the joke of it, replied with, “I could, if I wanted.”

That wasn’t a total lie; he could probably become an Avenger at that point, he was old enough, he simply wasn’t ready, so no. He couldn’t. Deadpool sounded way too excited about it, however, and Peter didn’t feel like saying he wasn’t ready, so he smiled.

For the first time in a long while, too, Peter didn’t feel any worry in the world. He felt free as they sat on a rooftop and Deadpool complained about how Americans should just change to the metric system already.

“Just yesterday I saw this crazy news about a sink accident or something, and they measured the hole with washing machines. Like, what the fuck is wrong with Americans anyway?” He said, and he sounded comically incredulous.

Peter shrugged, laughing it off with a joke about all of the systems being messed up on their own ways.

Just that night, he laughed way more he’d laughed the whole season. Deadpool was fun to be around, even if sometimes he spoke so rapidly he slurred his own words and Peter’d have to ask him to repeat it, and simply spoke nonsense half of the time.

It felt like things would be fine, like it would all get better, like things would go back to normal in no time. He was living good moments, happy ones, with nothing to bring him down or make him upset.

Deadpool, somehow, in the middle of the storm he was going through, managed to make him happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: The minimal words I wrote per chapter at first was 5k. I refused to allow myself to write less when the first one had more than 7k. It was really upsetting for a while, because I’d write half a page and stop, so it took time; but when I sat down and forced myself to write for hours? It’d be easy peasy lemon squeezy. I’m just a lazy procrastinator.  
> However, on chapter 8, I gave up on it. I had come up with an amazing idea for a BNHA fanfic, and I was reading multiple fanfics from that fandom, too, so I yearned to write it. I didn’t let myself write two fanfics at the same time, though, so I just rushed this. I also had a lot of other projects going on, like the school’s book, a writing competition on my city, my mental health, etc. I hope y’all don’t mind the chapters’ lengths change.
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) Sorry I'm late today.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: calorie counting and eating disorder.
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with these themes, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

“Zippty do dah, zippty-ay, I’m gonna blow all you dirtbags away. Plenty of bullets I’m gonna spray, Zippty do dah, zippty-ay.”

Deadpool was silly. That was the ultimate impression Peter had come to out of the three days they’d patrolled together. He wondered how people could hate him— yes, he was loud and never stopped talking, but Peter had to admit that he was funny.

He webbed another shooting drone to the ground, dodging more bullets, and Deadpool shot it, spinning around like he was dancing ballet.

“I really like this, baby!”

Peter cracked a smile, covering the merc from yet another drone. They decided to try a new strategy, not an innovator one, but one they thought would work for them.

They were finally getting closer to the woman, who called herself Professor Corvus, that was controlling it all. She wore a crow mask and all the drones had the shape of crows. It was honestly disappointing how uncreative the villains had started to become.

They were fighting back to back, helping each other with every target, completing what the other had started. Had Peter been born a creative, he’d perhaps write a poem about it; but he wasn’t, so he simply laughed at himself for being so ridiculous.

Peter’s sense tingled as he back flipped to dodge a bullet, but sucked in a breath when it tingled again and Deadpool shouted, “Spidey!”

He instinctively bended backwards, jumped back once more so he could stand up, all while feeling like he couldn’t breathe. A moment passed and he was still alive, still breathing.

“Holy shit, Webs! That was the bee’s knees!” Deadpool said.

He couldn’t waste anymore time, so he webbed the last two drones he could see, shot a smile to the anti-hero, hoping he’d see it, and sprinted towards Corvus. He felt so excited; he’d missed feeling like that for a long time.

The woman seemed to panic, typing restlessly on her small screen, but there were no drones left, they’d won. She dropped everything she was holding, pressing her neck quite determinately.

Peter looked at Deadpool, who looked back at him with what he guessed was an exasperated look. She’d most likely transform into a robotic, powerful version and attempt to kill them, which wasn’t anything new, either.

“You guys bore me!” The mercenary said, as he shot her shoulder, stopping whatever was happening to her.

Corvus gasps, holding her shoulder as it bled. Her mask breaks for some reason, and there it was, she was crying. Peter sighed as he webbed her wound and her arms to her sides. It was all so cliché it pained him.

“What is wrong with you?!” She cried, almost spitting at Deadpool as the young hero held her shoulders down, making her sit, and webbed her legs to the ground.

Peter looked at her with a frown. That’d been was uncalled for. She was the one who built numerous deadly drones and released them to the city like wolves to catch their prey, why was she so angry at him?

He was about to knock her out when Deadpool touched his shoulder, stopping him, and crouched down in front of her. Silence long lasted as he stared at her, until she finally sobbed.

“Well, I’ll tell you a story,” Deadpool said, taking a deep breath. “In the beginning, God created Deadpool. And God looked upon her creation and she thought, ‘What the fuck did I just do?’”

Before Peter was even able to react to what he’d just heard, which made no sense at all, but with Deadpool you never knew what was true and what was made up, the merc pointed his pistol at her face and fired.

Peter was dumbfounded for a second. He looked at her body as it fell back and at the masked man. He almost took a step back, but he noticed how she didn’t bleed. There was no bullet. There was not even the sound of a shot, but he’d been too focused on the finger pulling the trigger to acknowledge it.

Releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, Peter recomposed his posture and looked at Deadpool. She’d passed out of shock, just as he probably would have if he was in her place, without another injury.

“I gotchu too, didn’t I? I’m tellin’ ya, sweetums, I’m awesome!”

He smiled softly. “Yeah, that was smart, but we really need to go, I can hear the police getting closer.”

Deadpool nodded excitedly, leading the way to god knows where, jumping from roof to roof. Peter followed with a smile he couldn’t stop. His heart was beating fast, his mind was running quickly, but not in a bad way, he felt _alive_.

He’d never felt like that before, because he was always by himself, always worrying, but Deadpool made him feel at ease. He wasn’t worrying about what anyone would think of the crime scene, or if he’d done anything wrong.

He started laughing quietly, but he started to get happier for an unknown reason, and his laugh intensified. Deadpool looked at him curiously, and Peter even tried to stop after that, but it only made it worse.

They stopped running, and he immediately grabbed his sides as he held back tears. He was unreasonably euphoric. Maybe it was because he was finally losing it, maybe because he was just happy.

Did it really matter at that point? He was laughing, and for Peter, that was all that mattered for the moment. He even forgot about the mercenary’s presence for a second, until he asked, “I’m not the only crazy one, I guess?”

The young hero tried so hard to stop, covering his mouth and taking a deep breath, but he started giggling again. He looked at Deadpool almost frustrated, the masked man looking at him quizzically.

He sat down, threw his head back and took deep breaths. He forced his nails on his palms until he finally stopped. Taking another breath, he got up and faced Deadpool.

“I’m sorry, I literally have no idea what that was.” As he spoke, though, he smiled.

Deadpool grinned, somehow making it visible through the mask, placing his hands on his hips. “I know it’s hard to hold it back when I’m present, I’m always the life of the party.”

Peter looked at him, trying to figure if he was being sarcastic or not. Well, if he wasn’t, it was really out of character, so he just said, “Yeah, that’s actually it.”

The man stopped completely, letting his hands loose from his hips, frown evident through the folding on the mask. “Say what now?”

Peter could say so many things. He could tell his life story, explain why he left Queens, why he was so sloppy, why he was so down, why he didn’t eat those tacos the day before. He could just tell him everything and maybe that would help him feel better.

He didn’t want to, but he did. He didn’t want to sound desperate; he’d only met Deadpool a few days ago after all. He didn’t want to bump all of his issues and negativity on a man that probably had enough to deal with on his own. That would be selfish.

He didn’t explain anything then. He tried to be as vague as possible. “I haven’t felt this good in a while. Thank you.”

It was genuine and his voice quietly broke mid-sentence. He hoped Deadpool wouldn’t ask furthermore about it or why he was so emotional, so he sucked everything up and fixed his posture.

The anti-hero didn’t say anything, though. He was still, like he didn’t believe what Peter had said or as if he’d grown a third arm. The young hero tried cleaning his throat, which made the older jump a little.

“Yeah, I’m gonna ignore that. Nope, Spider-Man did not just thank me, that would be stupid.”

Peter smiled. He hoped he’d slowly get the mercenary to allow himself have good things. He hoped they’d grow together, both learning to be better, kinder people to themselves. That was a very deep and embarrassing thought, he noticed. So he stepped on it and hid it on his deepest place of mind.

He smiled and did something very stupid next. “Do you want to get ice cream?”

It was past midnight, he knew they’d have to look for a while to find somewhere open. But he was hungry. He hadn’t actually eaten anything for breakfast, or lunch, or dinner for that matter. It had been two days since he’d gotten anything to eat whatsoever.

“Absolutely.” Deadpool sounded very serious when he answered, which made Peter smile.

Things would be okay, he reminded himself, it would be fine.

They didn’t have to look for as long as Peter had expected until they found an open place. Deadpool had babbled the whole walk about his last mission on Australia, and from what Peter had gathered, he’d never go back to the country ever again after that.

There were considerably a lot of people, but, fortunately, no one had even batted an eye at them. It hadn’t even been a month since Peter moved, but the people had already gotten used to him, apparently. Deadpool also looked very satisfied.

The boy who made their ice cream, though, asked for a picture. Of course they took it, both pulling up the peace sign with a hand, smiling even though no one could see.

“What do you mean mint chocolate chip is your favorite? It’s not even red!” Deadpool said outraged, as if Peter had said he kicked kitties as a hobby.

He tilted his head to the side, eating from his cone as he stared at the other man’s bowl. “What’s that got to do with anything? Yours isn’t red either!”

Deadpool scoffed, almost throwing his spoon far away. “Well, it’s red-ish! See, it’s red velvet!”

Peter looked at it again. It still wasn’t red to him, it almost looked brown. He then understood why he complained that it wasn’t red. “Do you even like the taste of it, or do you just get it because it’s red?”

The man didn’t answer, looking away and eating from his bowl in silence. It took Peter a bit of effort not to laugh. “You do know that red isn’t my favorite color, right?”

That was a blatant lie. If you even did so much as take a glance at Spider-Man, you’d say his favorite color was red. Or blue, but the first thing that came to mind was red. He just wanted to see if Deadpool was going to act like a normal person, or lose it.

A second of staring passed, and of course, he lost it.

“That’s not possible, it can’t be! How will we be Team Red if you don’t even like the color? Why’s your suit even red anyway? I am so pissed at you right now.”

Peter muffled a laugh, ignoring Pool’s angry look at him. “Team what now?”

“Team Red!” He said, and Peter didn’t know if he was still angry or if he was excited. “Y’know, we both wear red, we patrol together and do things together, as a team!”

Peter nodded, he wasn’t wrong, even if he thought it was still too soon to define anything, he realized both of them hoped that it lasted.

They finished their ice creams and watched the shop close, sitting on a roof as Deadpool once again babbled about different realities. It was sudden, in the middle of his explanation of how they were living on a fanfic, that he said, "The first rule of Team Red is: you do not talk about Team Red."

He’d probably been holding onto that since the ice cream, as he simply said it out of nowhere. Peter looked at him with a smile, happy with himself for getting the reference.

"Did you really-"

He was cut off by Deadpool’s still outburst of what Peter thought to be confidence. "Hell yeah I did, baby boy."

The pet name got him choking on his own saliva. He cursed at Ned quietly for showing him the dark world of dirty words and their meanings. Only, Peter didn’t know if Deadpool meant it as a son, or the other.

Judging by how flirtatious the anti-hero was in general, with most of the people he knew, the young hero had come to the conclusion that Deadpool had a kink. No, he was not going into that, he did not care; he would completely ignore what happened and erase it from his memory forever.

Deciding on trying to forget what just happened, Peter said, **“** The second rule of Team Red is: you do not talk about Team Red. Third rule of Team Red: have you ever removed your mask?”

He was enjoying their time together so far. He didn’t know if he was so lonely to the point he was considering Deadpool a friend, or if he was merely good company; at least for him. Maybe they’d become besties and, after five years, tell each other their identities.

“No.”

Peter couldn’t read him, he didn’t know if he was going on with the joke or answering honestly. It got Peter thinking about his own answer. There was no time he took off his mask in front of another person knowing they were there. He didn’t know it when Ned was in his room, MJ just knew, and Mr. Stark didn’t even give him the chance.

“Has it ever been removed by others?” He continued, quieter that time.

The mercenary took a deep breath, replying with, “Never.”

That thought terrified Peter. His mask being removed by others was probably his worst nightmare, as it would cause pain both to him and those he knew. He would never be able to deal with the attention and would be always paranoid about his loved ones’ safety.

"This is the Way,” he finished proudly; it was no secret to anyone that he was a nerd for anything related to Star Wars.

Deadpool got up excitedly as he repeated, “This is the Way!”

They looked at each other in silence for a moment before breaking into a laugh. Pool ominously asked him to follow him then, but he didn’t sound anything but excited, so Peter did. They walked for a few minutes until they stopped at a playground.

“Really? How old are you again?” The young hero asked on a joking tone.

The mercenary made the sound of sticking his tongue out and walked towards the slide. Peter smiled and sat on the swing, looking around the place.

He hadn’t been there before, so he quietly asked Karen how far from his apartment he was. Her reply was somewhat surprising, but he wouldn’t have a hard time going back; plus, that was good, he could get to know the city better.

It was quiet there. Peter knew it was late, but he hadn’t stopped to listen to the quiet in a while. It was never really silent, because his senses didn’t allow it. At the moment, he could hear the sound of Deadpool’s gear and weapons against the slide loudly.

He closed his eyes. On the back, he could hear a kettle not so far away, soft steps on carpet, a bike riding through the streets slowly, a cat meowing, Deadpool’s heartbeat, his breath— why was it so close?

When Peter opened his eyes again, the anti hero was up close. It made him back away in instinct, and the man chuckled at his face.

“You looked peaceful, and I just had to ruin it. Sorry not sorry,” he said, sitting on the swing right beside his.

Peter smiled. “Yeah, it’s just really quiet here. I like it.”

The quietness was interrupted when Deadpool started to swing like his life depended on it, the chains making an unholy sound to Peter’s ears.

He watched the mercenary as he started to get higher and higher, until he finally completed a loop. He erupted into a scream, probably waking up the people who lived near, but, nevertheless, making Peter laugh.

“You’re one of a kind, Pool.”

Deadpool snorted as he made no motion to stop swinging, going on with repeated loops. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before, way to tell me I’m freaky!”

Frowning, Peter grabbed the chains that were on his side, causing the man to fall out of the seat, fairly far from where he stood. Peter giggled as he walked to him, offering a hand to help him stand up.

“No, like, seriously, that wasn’t intentional.” Peter said, trying not to laugh. “I’m talking about you falling, by the way. And when I said one of a kind, I didn’t mean it on a bad way.”

Pool took a moment to accept his hand, but got up with his help. He cleaned his suit with a few pats, and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, looking down at his feet. He was being quite dramatic, if Peter had a say in it.

“I understand you, Webs; it’s just my first time doing this. You should call me ‘Pool’ more often, too.”

That got a snort out of him. “You sound like we’re high school sweethearts.”

Deadpool let him go, leading him to another walk, but that time he felt much more at ease. He was talking about his first girlfriend back on high school, and how pretty he used to be.

“I’m telling you, Spidey, I had ‘em pretty blue eyes and beautiful blond hair, the kids were all over me. I wasn’t used to dating, of course, a pretty face like that couldn’t be restrained from others, but this chick was crazy to the bones, threatened cutting off my—”

Peter didn’t interrupt him, although sometimes he wanted to. Every time the man told a story, it was like not even an alien attack would distract him, so Peter listened, nodded and hummed. They were interesting stories, too, he couldn’t lie.

They stopped in front of a certain shady looking bar, which’s name Peter could only read “Wayward Girls”. He put his hands up in front of the mercenary’s face just when he was about to go in, almost panicking.

“I don’t drink.”

Deadpool laughed. “Yeah, okay, like I believe that.” He got behind the hero, pushing him inside. “Come on, the people here love me, I’m sure they’ll love you too.”

Peter didn’t allow the man to push him through the door. Deadpool was strong, but Spider-Man was strong, too. He took a step back, taking another glance at the place before trying to look as serious as possible.

“Really, I don’t drink.” That wouldn’t do and he knew it, so he tried, “It’d also be bad for Spider-Man’s image, being seen into a… fishy place like this.”

Pool crossed his arms, sighing. “Yeah, okay… Weasel just won’t believe in me when I say we’ve been patrolling together, can’t you just go say hi?”

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

It wasn’t a trusting issue, because as far as Peter could tell, Deadpool wasn’t lying. His heartbeat was normal; his breathing pattern also didn’t change. The place just really gave him a bad feeling, his senses weren’t even tingling, but, again, better safe than dead.

They walked away, but Deadpool wasn’t saying anything, he didn’t even attempt to continue his story, which was a bit concerning. Peter looked at him curiously, and he had his hands under his chin, like he was deep in thought.

“You okay?”

The anti-hero immediately nodded. It got Peter in surprise, but that meant he wasn’t so deep in thought. It had already started feeling weird hanging with the merc and not hearing his voice.

“I just—” He only said that, and Peter knew something crazy would come out of his mouth next. “I’m seriously starting to think you’re under 21 at least.”

Peter almost choked. He had to lie; he needed a good lie and excuse straightaway. “I’m not jailbait, Deadpool, how many times do I need to tell you that?”

That was bad. It didn’t mean he wasn’t under 21, and it could mean he was 17. He prayed for the gods that the mercenary wouldn’t think he was between those ages, also noting that he should have a lie ready for those kind of questions.

“It’s just that you’re so small! And cute!” As Deadpool talked, he threw his hands up.

Peter didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or an offense; he was basically being compared to a child. He was not a child. He was Spider-Man!

The man stopped walking and was then facing him. Peter was almost sweating, he was always a terrible liar, what would he do if he found out?

“Wait, are you a nerd? Like, one of those nerdy dudes who look 12 and people don’t let ‘em go into bars even with an ID?”

He sighed in relief, but recovered quickly so he wouldn’t raise any more questions. He was a nerd, yes, everyone knew it, but he didn’t look 12. He hadn’t tried to get into a bar, but surely they would let him in.

“I— Okay, yeah, I guess you can say that. I’m in college, biochemistry, so not. A. Child.”

He shouldn’t have said he what he studied, it was a hint closer to who he was. He was an idiot. But, also, so was Deadpool sometimes. He hoped the man wouldn’t use the information for any bad things, but trusting a mercenary didn’t seem like a good idea at all.

“I knew it; Spider-Man’s a nerd! You like Star Wars, right? I love it! Though I’d have to say bye-bye if you said you liked the prequels. There was this guy once who did, and I just had to un-alive him. I mean, I can’t let someone with such opinion wander around like that. Anyway! Back to you being a nerd, are you one of those movie clichés? Do you have cute brown hair, wear glasses and—”

That confirmed to Peter that he would most likely not sell out his information. But, Pool was getting too good at describing how he really looked like, which was terrifying and also meant that he, according to clichés, looked like a nerd, too.

“Yeah, I like Star Wars,” he interrupted the other man. “And no, I wasn’t particularly pleased with the prequels, either.”

The man swung his arms on his sides and continued to walk. “Awesome! We can remain friends then.”

Peter started to question his life choices, however. Did Deadpool really kill a man just because he liked some random movies’ prequels? Well Star Wars weren’t random movies, but still, it was a lot to think about. It would remain a story for another day.

He still didn’t finish his story, so Peter had to ask, “Won’t you continue the story you were telling?”

Pool tilted his head to the side, as if asking what he was talking about. Peter felt like doing the same, maybe he’d already forgotten.

“The one about your first girlfriend, Rin?”

Peter wasn’t engaged on the story, he was just curious, as anyone else would be. It’s not like he was trying to understand how it went from having a crush on him to writing his name with menstruation blood on the school’s bathroom stalls.

“Oh, yeah! You were paying attention?”

The question got Peter off guard. What did he even mean, was he paying attention, wasn’t he telling a story? Of course he was listening, he wasn’t a cold-hearted mean guy. He nodded, almost impatient for the man to keep talking.

“ _Right_ , where was I? Oh, of course, the principal called her parents, ‘cause I mean, that bitch was fucking nuts, luv—”

* * *

Peter visited Auntie’s Safe Place the next evening. He had an okay day at MIT, not having an encountering with Haze after he proved to only be interested in Mr. Stark, and even had salad that morning, which meant he was on a good mood. Entering the shop was an experience, though. The place’s smell was almost bad, too many flowers for Peter’s nose.

He tried to keep his head up as he walked past the different colors and shapes, he didn’t know if he would buy anything, so he was rather nervous. The moment a young boy in an apron walked to him with a friendly smile on his face, Peter almost felt like crying.

“Hi! How can I help you?”

It was fine, it was just a person, just a question, no need to be nervous, who was even nervous? Peter was doing absolutely fine as he smiled awkwardly and tried to hide his sweating.

“I’m just looking, thank you.”

The boy, whose name was Sam according to his name tag, clapped his hands softly and nodded. “Alright, if you need anything, just ask me. I’ll have you know we’re having a special this month, too!”

The young hero nodded, appreciating the boy’s softness. He looked young, maybe even yet in middle school, and that got a smile on Peter’s face. He seemed very happy to be working there, maybe it was a family’s business, or maybe he really loved flowers.

Either way, Peter was thinking too much. He thought of sticking with a single black dahlia, May’s favorite flower, and leave. That wasn’t a good idea whatsoever, because if he kept staring at them any longer, he’d probably start to cry.

He quietly approached Sam, whom he shouldn’t even be scared of, seeing as he was taller, and asked, “What’s your special?”

The boy immediately lighted up. His smile got wider and he clapped his hands again. “I’m so glad you asked! So, if you—”

He started explaining something about days and weeks, prices and quantity, but Peter was so nervous and trying to focus on his voice, that he didn’t understand a single word that came out of the boy’s mouth.

Too embarrassed to ask him to repeat it all, he just nodded when it felt right, until he finally heard, “That’s perfect! So, what will you be getting today?”

Oh, seemed like the perfect timing to be panicking. Peter had no idea what he’d just agreed to, it could’ve been a drug deal or a kidnap plan, he didn’t know. He was definitely sweating.

“Um, whatever you recommend?”

Sam smiled, nodding and walking away to get who knew what. Peter didn’t even know if he’d be able to pay for what he was getting, he did have a card Mr. Stark gave him, but he was trying to spend as minimum as he could.

He stood there, fidgeting his fingers and staring at his boots, waiting and hoping that he didn’t put himself in a situation it’d be hard to get out of. Peter waited for about two or three minutes until Sam came back to sight again, holding a small pot of yellow flowers.

“Here they are,” he said, showing Peter them closer, but still holding them. “These are narcissus, also known as daffodils; they seem very simple, but that doesn’t mean they’re less pretty. If you’re interested, they mean rebirth and new beginnings.”

Peter slightly frowned, that was odd. He was technically having a new beginning, far from home and what he’d grown to. What an interesting coincidence, he thought. He smiled at the boy and nodded as he went on explaining how to take care of them.

He had no idea what he was doing at the moment. Listening to a boy telling him how he should be careful to give them light, but not too much, so put them close to windows. Buying flowers just because the place’s name made his heart ache.

He listened that time, though, because he didn’t want the poor, gracious things to die. He learned when to empty the tray beneath the pot, when to check the soil, a lot of things he hadn’t had a single clue about before that day.

He thanked Sam, still overwhelmed by what he just did and what he just learned, heading to pay for his stuff. He put down the pot, took a deep breath and smiled. When he looked up, however, it was like the world stopped.

The woman that stood in front of him looked exactly like Aunt May. Maybe it was because he missed her, or nostalgia, but she reminded him too much or her. Too much.

“Hey! It’s good to see a new face around here, specially joining our specials,” she said. Her voice didn’t sound like May’s, and that made Peter deflate a bit.

He smiled. “Yeah, um, sure, I moved not so long ago.”

Reading her name tag had Peter wanting so hard to cry. It read “Auntie Gabby”, who probably was the place’s owner. She looked to be on her 60s or 70s and had a very friendly smile; he assumed she was really proud of her work.

He had to admit he would be, too. The place was well organized, the plants’ quality seemed good, the employees were friendly, the only thing he didn’t know were the prices. He laughed nervously as she talked about new faces around that time of the year.

He paid for it without asking how much it was, and when he was leaving, hearing, “Great to have you here! Hope to see you again soon,” made him go into panic mode. He felt like whatever it was he agreed to, meant he had to go back and buy more flowers.

Peter could simply take his narcissus and never show up ever again, avoiding the shop like it was the plague, but that would be bad. Promising himself to go there again the following week and read the signals so he’d know what special he was participating on, he walked back to his place.

Finding a good place for them and organizing his things, Peter actually took a moment to appreciate how they lighted up the apartment’s atmosphere. It still didn’t feel like home, but at least it didn’t feel so fake.

Opening his closet and seeing May’s dress was something he made himself go through every day, because he thought he’d get used to it at some point and not get sad every time. He felt like putting it on, hugging himself and crying silently for a few hours.

He put on the suit, looked at himself in the mirror and left through the window.

He swung back to the bank, avoiding looking at the flower shop, and stopped on the roof. The sky was cloudy that night, so he wasn’t able to see many stars or the moon. He didn’t even know if he was in time, probably too early, but he could enjoy that feeling for some hours.

Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He wouldn’t cry, there was not even a reason to cry at that moment. Everything was fine. Things were fine. He was okay.

“Hey, sweet butt, I just pooped in my pants. Can I get into yours?”

He immediately spun around, getting into defensive position as he recognized the voice. Deadpool. Of course. That didn’t change what he just said, though.

He relaxed, shaking his head and pulling back in his tears. “I don— What?”

Pool laughed, showing on his hands, once again, two bags of food. Peter smelled burritos. Maybe that was why he chose that pick up line, but it didn’t make it any less gross. He didn’t expect more of Deadpool, nevertheless.

“I was just noticing how your ass looks fine today. And always. Damn,” he said, sitting down and grabbing two white boxes out of the bags.

There were so many things with what just came out of his mouth, as always. It made him wonder if his suit was too tight, or maybe the mercenary was just messing with him. He sighed and sat down in front of the man, maybe he’d eat.

As he pulled the burrito out and said, “I always order ‘em big burritos with chicken. The hours on my bathroom later? Totally worth it,” however, Peter’s mind changed completely. Too many calories, too much food. He already had salad that morning, he’d be fine, no biggie.

Hadn’t he been wearing a mask at the moment, Deadpool would probably be able to see his face of absolute disgust at the piece of food. But he was, and that lead to the merc probably thinking he was staring at it with hunger.

“You want a burrito, sweetie?” he asked.

Peter’s face was probably the ugliest. He couldn’t be more disgusted.

“You do realize that that has like 900 calories, right?” And it’s not like he googled it or anything, he’s just a smart man.

Deadpool adjusted his position, cleaning his mouth and looking at him. “So? I’m a big boy; momma can’t tell me what to eat now. Plus, I get into a lot of fights; I need some food to sustain me.”

He wasn’t wrong. Peter didn’t care that he was eating it. The thought of himself eating it, though, now, that was completely outraging. He couldn’t allow himself eat something like it ever, it was worth almost two meals, and with his metabolism, he’d end up eating way more than one.

As Deadpool finished eating, Peter tried spotting constellations between the clouds. He wasn’t able to see many, but it was distracting him from the smell of food, so it was better than nothing.

When he finally stopped hearing the sound of food being chewed, his spider-sense tingled. He caught two candies mid-air, flying to his direction. He looked at the anti-hero in confusion, tilting his head to the side.

“You never eat what I bring to ya, so I brought some candies this time.”

Peter smiled. At the end of the day, Deadpool was a good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: You guys don’t understand my level of research for this series— I searched how flower shop employees approached customers! It was really hard for me, a non-US citizen, to write a story that took place in a country I’ve never been to. I really tried my best; I tried to keep it minimal when describing the city and things I don’t know.  
> I know the dialogues sometimes may seem forced or unreal because of the choice of words, but please bear with me, I’ve been studying English for about 5 years, but it never seems enough.
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: eating disorder, panick attack and self-harm (no cutting).
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with these themes, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Things were not fine. It’d been almost a week since Peter went out as Spider-Man, every professor to ever exist assigned a bunch of different projects, the girl who used to make his coffee at the place he went to got fired, and the new guy didn’t know how to make good coffee, everything was going wrong on every way possible.

The week had started well, actually, he thought he was finally starting to move on. He got breakfast, dressed as a proper human being and walked to campus peacefully. The moment he got his coffee, though, things started to go downhill. It tasted terrible and burnt his tongue.

He even tried to stay positive still, something he hadn’t done in a while, but he suddenly had a (not) fair amount projects due the following week, coffee on his shirt from bumping into someone, and he started to have a sensory overload in the middle of class.

Peter excused himself to the bathroom and tried hard to hold back tears. Everything was just too much, he could hear the whispers of people from different classes to someone filling their water bottle. He covered his ears and bit his lip; things were going so well, why at that moment? Couldn’t he enjoy a little bit of happiness?

He didn’t allow himself to miss class, however, and forced himself to stay at school. The year had hardly started, he didn’t want to be that student. It was a nightmare of a choice. He barely could bring himself to write anything, to hold his pen even. He didn’t go back to his place until the last period, though.

When Peter entered his apartment that day, he couldn’t stop the tears. He tried really hard, but everything was too much, and he needed to cry it all out. Hugging himself and May’s dress on his bed, he fell asleep without even noticing.

That was one day without patrolling. He’d have apologized endlessly to Deadpool if the next day hadn’t been as bad as the previous one.

Haze had cornered him before class started and started to ramble about how wrong the things he had done were; that he’d like to actually be Peter’s friend and get to know him, etcetera. Peter would’ve believed him, but not once did he apologize. He wasn’t so naïve.

He tried to ignore the man, but he kept getting texts all day. He even thought of changing numbers, but that was way too extreme. Blocking Haze had been a mistake too. The next free period he had was interrupted by the guy, that time asking why he’d blocked him and why he didn’t want to be friends with him.

It got Peter thinking if they were really both adults. Why were people so desperate anyway? He understood that Mr. Stark was a man you didn’t see every day on the streets, but Haze wasn’t even sure if Peter knew him, why was he so invested in it?

The young hero decided to say he wasn’t comfortable and asked to leave. Surprisingly, that’s what got Haze to leave him be. He scoffed, stared at him for a second and walked away. Unsurprisingly, he already had a headache nonetheless, so it barely helped with anything.

That day, Peter got to his place exhausted after a few group projects, accidently falling asleep on his tub once again. Social interaction had always been a tiring activity, plus Haze had got him stressed.

Two days without going out as Spider-Man was a lot, if he thought back at the days on Queens. He really wanted to patrol the next day, but things happened. Again.

Peter had decided to go to Auntie’s Safe Place that day. He needed to know what he got himself into, if he could never show up again and be fine, if he’d actually keep coming back. Gabby was the only one at the shop and she talked to him a lot.

He ended up explaining he didn’t know what he agreed to that day. She laughed and explained he didn’t need to come back if he didn’t want to, it was just something about buying something every week and receiving free stuff at the end of the month.

It got him interested, if he was to be honest. The apartment was boring and dead, it was quite uncomfortable, and Peter had no idea how Mr. Stark lived on those kinds of places without going mad at some point.

He bought a pot of gladioli that afternoon, because Gabby was so polite and so kind. She explained to him how to take care of them, talked about her nephews and thanked him for coming back.

When Peter got to his place, he placed it on a good spot and stared at if for a few minutes. He noticed tears falling down and couldn’t hold them any longer. It was then he noticed it had been a month since the event. He missed May so much.

He didn’t sleep on his tears that night; he simply couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. He was simply so tired. He couldn’t keep doing that, three days on a row, but he also couldn’t bottle up his feelings and act like he was heartless. He was human, after all.

Friday was absolute hell. He tried a different coffee shop, but he ended up waiting in a line for more than 10 minutes, which almost got him late. It felt like time was being slowed down at MIT, classes going by two times slower than they used to; Peter felt like sleeping every single second.

The worst of it all was when he got back to his apartment. He planned on quickly doing his chores, suiting up and going out. He didn’t do any of those, because his stomach decided to get stabbed by a ghost.

He could barely move. It felt like his stomach was being folded and contracting inside him.

He wasn’t used to going days without food, and because of that week’s events, he didn’t get to eat anything. According to his math, if a normal person could go 21 days without eating, with his metabolism, he could go for around ten.

It had been almost four days since he’d had something. Plus the fact that the one thing he had to eat four days before was ice cream. He knew he wasn’t getting enough nutrients, his stomach was screaming that at him.

He decided to cook something caloric then. He had much trouble facing it, taking his time to convince himself that he needed it, or else he’d pass out of pain and die in a few days. His stomach wasn’t going to wait until he prepared himself mentally, though, so he threw it down his throat.

Eating didn’t magically, suddenly help with the pain, however. He lied down again, hugging himself and hoping it would go away soon. It hurt so much. He started to feel dizzy at some point, but couldn’t identify if he passed out or fell asleep that night.

That was four days without Spider-Man. Peter was determinate to go out and apologize endlessly, if Deadpool even kept showing up after he disappeared for days.

Mr. Stark didn’t want him to, apparently.

Peter tried yet another coffee shop that morning. He was happy to notice there wasn’t a big line and the coffee actually tasted good. He walked to MIT with a subtle smile on his face, and classes were surprisingly okay, too.

Everything was to go right. He got to his place, forced in a small salad, because after the previous day’s event, he had to be cautious, and did his homework. Giving his plants proper care was fun, he liked how they lighted up the place. He was ready to put on his suit, walking his way to the closet, when the front door opened.

He immediately hid behind his door and stopped breathing, trying to focus on the sounds the person was making. He knew that heartbeat and steps, however, he just couldn’t recall exactly whose it was in the moment of stress.

“Peter Benjamin Parker—”

Mr. Stark. He released a sigh of relief before stepping out of the bedroom to face the older man. He still didn’t know why he was there, simply hoping not to be in much trouble. Mr. Stark had used his full name, after all.

Peter stopped on the doorway and crossed his arms. He smiled awkwardly as he said, “Hi, Mr. Stark, how’re you doing?”

The older man scoffed and sat down, crossing his legs, holding an arm while the other supported his chin. He had a pissed off looking face on, but Peter could almost never figure out what he was thinking, so he had a bit of hope.

“How am I doing, he asks,” he said, and Peter was then sure he was in trouble. “Look, Peter, I trust you.”

He had no idea where that was leading to. Maybe he’d have to go back to New York, give up the suit, never talk to any of the Avengers again, move to another country. He never knew with Tony Stark.

“I trust your judgment of things. I trust you with a lot of things and I hate to admit it, but I would trust you with my life, too.”

That was surprising for sure. Peter’s eyes went wide and he had no idea what to say or how to react. He had never, ever expected something like that to come from Mr. Stark. Especially towards him, plain Peter Parker, the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

“So when I heard that you and Deadpool were seen getting ice cream together, I thought it was a polite act from you. A one time thing. Just so he’d stop bothering you or something.”

The young hero wasn’t an idiot. He knew what Mr. Stark meant and what he was doing there when he heard those sentences. He didn’t agree with any of them, obviously, but he didn’t want to start an argument.

Mr. Stark sighed. “I didn’t believe it the first time I read you were patrolling together.”

No one said anything for a second or two. Peter knew he didn’t need to explain himself, for there was nothing really to explain; he had made a friend. Mr. Stark was staring at him, probably expecting him to panic and try to apologize. But he wouldn’t.

There was no situation where Peter would ever apologize for having a friend. He was happy, he thought Deadpool to be happy, what was wrong with it? He stared back at Mr. Stark with almost the same intensity. He wasn’t going to play his game.

“Why did you decide to visit, Mr. Stark?” he asked casually.

The billionaire frowned, crossing his arms and looking at him carefully. Peter wouldn’t back down. He was done with listening to Mr. Stark like he was some sort of god, and everything he said was the ultimate truth and rules.

He wasn’t a teen anymore. He had grown an independent man. Maybe a sad one, but he didn’t need an adult looking after every step and choice he made. He needed to learn and try new things himself, making mistakes and learning.

Mr. Stark was bossy. That was no news to anyone who knew about his existence. Peter knew he probably knew better, that he was an adult, an elder, someone wiser than him. But he never really tried to teach him a lesson without making him feel ashamed of himself.

He knew that it was the way Mr. Stark was, and he couldn’t simply change that, but May was never like that. Peter missed her so much. Dealing with the older man’s teaching methods wasn’t his priority at the moment.

“I’m worried for you.”

The sentence made Peter want to laugh. He rarely saw, barely talked to him. He had no rights to appear out of nowhere and try to tell him what to and what not to do.

“You’ve lost weight,” Mr. Stark said, and his voice was almost soft. “You haven’t gone out as Spider-Man for almost a week now.”

He wasn’t lying. It just felt unsettling, coming out from his mouth. Peter felt bad even, because he hadn’t been eating and just felt down. Well, he was having a good day until the man showed up. He felt angry then.

“I want to know what’s been going on.”

Peter laughed that time, and bitterly. He looked away, holding back tears. He wouldn’t cry, he was supposed to be angry, arguing, screaming, throwing a tantrum. Not crying. Not in front of Mr. Stark.

“You want to know what’s going on?” he asked, looking the man in the eyes. “Here’s what’s been going on: May’s gone. May died on my sight, right in front of my face, and I didn’t do anything about it.”

It hurt. The thought and knowledge that if he had done something different, reacted faster, or done literally anything but what he did, May would maybe have left alive.

Mr. Stark opened his mouth, but Peter quickly continued, “She’s gone and all of you were, too, when I came back. No one talked to me. Ned didn’t even go see me. You tried to make it better by giving me an apartment, but it’s not _home_ , and you didn’t come visit me once.”

Peter didn’t notice the tears as they fell and that he had gotten up, pacing around as he talked. He felt anxious, tired, sad, angry, upset, so many emotions at the same time. He was overwhelmed.

Maybe if Mr. Stark saw his tears and noticed how hurt he was, he’d understand his point. Maybe he’d just nod, pat his shoulder, even give him a hug, promise to check on him more. Peter knew he wouldn’t, but it was nice to imagine.

“MJ went to see me, but she hasn’t called since. No one, not even once, and it wouldn’t hurt, even bothered to try to talk to me. And I’m tired of waiting,” he said and smiled sadly.

He could have tried and texted MJ or Ned, but he really didn’t know what to say. So he decided to wait and see if they’d care for him, ask if he was doing fine. It had been a month, but he didn’t receive one single text.

Peter felt so hurt. He considered them his best friends, he couldn’t take in that maybe they didn’t think so, too. It was hard, but he was coming in terms with the idea that time passed and people went different ways. Maybe he’d never see them again.

Mr. Stark was silent. He was watching, maybe waiting for an opening so he’d say something, but he seemed lost overall. It was weird to see him being so expressive.

“So what’s wrong with it? Deadpool’s a nice guy, and I like being around him.” Peter looked at Mr. Stark then, cleaning his tears and nose as he stopped walking, too.

The man took a deep breath. “Since you’ve started to patrol with him, you’ve only lost weight. You seem depressed.” He frowned, and Peter almost felt bad when he noticed it was of worry. “He’s a mercenary, Peter. He kills people for money.”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up as he looked at the hypocrite in front of him. “And you kill them for free, what the hell?”

Peter never cursed. He tried not to say bad words, mainly because he was raised that way, but if he ever got used to cursing, he’d end up cursing as Spider-Man. There were a lot of children who looked up at Spider-Man and saw him as an example.

Mr. Stark flinched at the accusation. No hero could save everyone. Peter knew very well how it was and how it felt. He didn’t really mean to say it, but the billionaire was being too judging of someone he didn’t even know.

He sighed again, rubbing his forehead. “I just want what’s best for you.”

Peter started to cry again, he didn’t even know when, but that time he didn’t try to stop it. He just looked at the man in front of him with pure wroth.

“You don’t even really know me, how would you know what’s best for me?”

He truly believed that. What could Mr. Stark know? Even if he summed up all of the time they were together in the same room, it wouldn’t be enough for him to know Peter. He shouldn’t act like he did just because he was Tony Stark, a billionaire, a super-hero, whatever else he called himself.

Mr. Stark got up, pointed at him and said, “Of course I know you! Peter—”

Peter didn’t give him time to finish. He was tired of pretending they had a father and son relationship. “Bullshit! You stalk me like you do with everyone else, but that changes nothing! Do you even know my favorite color? Or food? When was the last time you asked if everything was okay?”

He was crying hard. His voice was rising with every word; he couldn’t help it, his emotions going up to his head as he argued. He was exhausted. He wanted to cry for hours and sleep for years.

Mr. Stark looked miserable. It was the first time Peter saw him make that face, he dared guess he was hurt. But the young hero didn’t care about that at the moment. "I try to help you—"

"Money doesn't mean shit!” Peter screamed. “You think we're close because you help me financially? What the hell! You— you left me after May and everything is crap, you’re never even around.”

He sniffed, rubbing his face with his arm, but didn’t stop. “I used to look up at you, and you know that, I didn’t try to hide it; but you ruined it. This image I had of you.” He looked at Mr. Stark, and he felt so sad, so broken. “I don’t think you ever cared for me, if I’m honest.”

Silence. Peter was sniffing restlessly; crying like the world was about to end, but Mr. Stark wasn’t making a single sound. The young hero couldn’t even hear his breath.

That was what defined it for Peter. He needed to be alone. To get in the tub, cry, hug himself and make his palms bleed from holding them too strong. He took a deep breath, trying to recompose himself, even if it didn’t help much.

“Just leave. Please. I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he said, _pleaded_. He was hugging his sides, pointing at the door.

There was no doubt his eyes were either red or would be soon. He didn’t think he cried so hard ever before. They’d probably be swollen and very ugly.

Mr. Stark seemed to wake up from a trance suddenly. “Peter—”

“Just go!”

It was harsh. The whole argument had been rough. He was too emotional to be facing stressing situations like those, always making bad choices he would regret later. He knew that, but he didn’t apologize as Mr. Stark walked past him and out of the apartment.

He stood, silent and still, for a few minutes. He needed to take in what had just happened. He cried the whole week and everything sucked, basically resuming it all. He got upset and dropped all of it on Mr. Stark, even if he slightly had it coming.

Once he heard a car start and assumed the man was at a reasonable distance, where he wouldn’t be able to hear him, Peter screamed.

He grabbed his hair, crouched down and screeched agonizingly. He hated everything that was happening. He hated how he felt most of the time. He hated himself. Why was all of it even happening to him? Did he really deserve it all?

Peter needed to punch something. Without thinking twice, he took his mask, not even the whole suit, put it on and left in a rush. He knew an abandoned building nearby, and it seemed like a fight would take place there and Spider-Man, accidently, would end up destroying the place.

He didn’t even acknowledge his way to the place. Everything was quite blurry, voices, mixed scents, sounds all too loud, but he didn’t care. He just needed to punch something. That would make it feel better, right?

When he got to the place, he made sure no one could see him inside, took a deep breath, and threw the first punch. The whole column collapsed in front of him in seconds. Peter could lie and say he was worried about the structure falling over his head, but he wasn’t. Not even a little bit.

He didn’t care that his knuckles bled when he punched the second, and that he heard a loud, sickening crack noise when he punched the third. His hands hurt, but at that moment, it was a better feeling than the one he had a few moments back.

He couldn’t hear the city when his bones broke and the building started to get unbalanced. He couldn’t cry because of how he felt emotionally when excruciating pain ran through his arms. He couldn’t bring himself to mind a single thing at that moment.

“Baby boy?”

Peter immediately turned around at the voice’s sound, and it didn’t matter he was breathless, tired, sad, angry, upset or anything whatsoever. The first thing that came to his mind when he saw Deadpool was to apologize; he had been such a bad partner.

“Pool, I’m so sorry for disappearing all these days.”

His voice sounded terrible. Hoarse, trembling, broken. He wasn’t exactly at his best condition, he had to admit. Broken pretty much all of the bones in his hands and arms, his mask probably wet from all the tears he let escape, wearing shitty clothes and the mask. It certainly wasn’t pretty.

Deadpool walked to his direction carefully, and it seemed like he was frowning. “Forget about that, honey pie, are you okay? Your hands… Um…”

Peter had never seen the mercenary speechless before. He always had something to say, it didn’t matter if it was a ridiculous pun or a bad comeback, he was always talking. It was comforting for the young hero; he had always hated the silence.

He gave up on doing what he was attempting to, then. He looked down at his hands, inspecting the damage. He sniffled. He shouldn’t have done that, why had he done that? He was so stupid, gosh, couldn’t he stop being so emotional for a second?

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until he felt Deadpool’s soft touch on his back. He was whispering comforting, concerned words, but Peter couldn’t make out what they were exactly. He couldn’t even breath right.

He was being unreasonable, everything he had been doing that week, from being lazy and not going out as Spider-Man to fighting with Mr. Stark. He had shouted at his mentor’s face, for the love of Thor.

Maybe he deserved it all. He didn’t do a single useful thing the whole week, aside from the few group projects. He never once cared for all of the lives he could’ve saved the time he spent being selfish and doing nothing because he wanted to.

He heard a quiet, “I need you to breath—” and realized he was definitely not breathing. He was going to die, because he was reckless, and he broke all of his bones, and he was bleeding, and he couldn’t even breath.

He did, then, what an intelligent, thoughtful person would’ve done in his situation. He removed his mask out of panic. He didn’t even think twice, just as the idea popped on his head, he took it off.

He didn’t notice as Deadpool immediately covered his eyes, muttering, “Oh, god,” and took a step back.

All that mattered to Peter was that he needed to breath. So he tried, he tried hard, to suck in a few breaths and calm himself down. He wasn’t succeeding, however, and that just made him even more panicked.

The anti-hero got closer, Peter saw his silhouette and heard the shuffling, still covering his eyes, and said quietly, “Put your head on my chest.”

Peter didn’t, obviously. He was in a state of panic, he couldn’t breathe, what would it help to get physical? If anything, it might’ve even made him feel more on edge.

“Listen to my heartbeat, pumpkin. Focus on it,” Deadpool said softly.

The young hero, finally understanding, closed his eyes and gasped for air again. He moved his head towards the mercenary, not caring he’d get tears all over his suit, probably already making a mess on his own clothes, and tried to focus.

It was nice. Deadpool was surprisingly calm, and that helped him calm down too. His heart was loud to Peter’s ears, but not enough to make it annoying or unbearable. Enough to get him to breathe normally again.

Peter didn’t notice that they stood like that for long enough to make him sleepy. He was so tired, his hands hurt so much, and there were a lot of things to think about, but Deadpool made him feel safe.

He didn’t notice when he fell asleep, or passed out in exhaustion, on the anti-hero’s chest, without a mask or a suit and multiple broken bones. He didn’t notice when the man, still not looking, reached from his position to find his mask.

When his face was once again covered by the soft fabric of his suit, but Karen didn’t greet him, because she knew it would wake him up. There was no note or warning from Mr. Stark, as he made it so he’d only receive those when he wanted.

Deadpool sighed in relief, finally opening his eyes, looking at the small man he held. The mask was definitely not right on his face, but at least he couldn’t see him at all. He got up very carefully and slowly, carrying the young man on his arms.

Where to go he didn’t know. He had no idea where Spider-Man lived, or if there was any other place he could drop him at. Sighing once again, he got out of the building and headed to his own house.

The trip was awfully quiet and he didn’t stop worrying any moment. The hero’s hands were bleeding way too much for his liking, and he could definitely see his bones a little. Knowing how he, himself wouldn’t want to be taken to a hospital, he’d have to take care of Spider-Man’s injuries on his own.

After a few minutes of running, he finally got to his place. It was new, of course, it hadn’t been too long since he’d moved, but it was nice. It wasn’t the mess his last house had been yet, it still looked like a corrupt politician’s house, it had been expansive after all, but he was making home out of it just fine.

Deadpool carefully opened his door with his foot and entered quietly, closing it again with his butt. He walked to his room and placed Spider-Man on the bed cautiously, heading to his bathroom and grabbing his first aid kit.

He muttered an apology as he cut the hero’s shirt, which he certainly wouldn’t miss, it was very old, but if he did, Deadpool could buy him a nicer one. He quickly removed his dirty, nasty gloves and put on nitrile powder-free ones (he never used them before, not really caring about safety when treating himself).

He got his sterile bandages, applied them over basically every bleeding point on both arms, made a knot on them and checked the circulation. He applied splints and padded them for extra care. He had never been that careful about injuries before, but he didn’t know how fast Spider-Man healed and he definitely didn’t want any bones to heal wrong.

It took him more than an hour to get done with everything. He sighed with pure relief when all was wrapped up and looking good enough. Putting the first aid kit and the trash away, he closed the bedroom’s door in silence, giving the hero a last concerned look for the day.

Finally having time to worry about the reasons behind the man doing that to himself, _hurting_ himself so brutally, Deadpool sat down on his sofa, staring at the turned off TV. He knew Spider-Man had been down for a while, since he came back from his two-weeks break, but he hadn’t expected that.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t done that to himself, he was Deadpool, The Merc With A Mouth, it was to be expected of him. Spider-Man, however? No, the young hero didn’t deserve anything he had done to his own self. At all.

Maybe someone was hurting him. Maybe he had lost a person he cared for. Maybe he did something he regretted terribly. Maybe he was just done with everything. It didn’t really matter which it was, Deadpool wasn’t going to accept seeing his hero like him.

He couldn’t bear the thought of the young man depressed, alone, hopeless, wanting to end it all— he had to remind himself that people weren’t him sometimes. But Spider-Man could still be thinking like that. He didn’t know.

Taking a confident deep breath, he got up and swore that, from then on, he’d make it his goal to make the hero smile and happy. Even if that meant never patrolling together, or moving to another country, or killing Iron Man. It didn’t matter. He had a new mission.

He quietly sang _Poker Face_ by Lady Gaga as he headed to his kitchen, putting his “Call me daddy” apron on and turning on the stove. He was going to wake Spidey up with the smell of pancakes and make him smile on the spot.

Spider-Man wouldn’t be able to resist it. Deadpool was totally the best friend ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: I actually talked about this work with my therapist. I would spend a long time rambling about ideas and progress even though she won't ever read it, because fortunately she doesn't speak English.   
> She was really hyped about it, too. Always saying things like, "Why don't you just change the characters' names and some other details, so you can publish a book? It would be amazing." I really liked her :).
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) And happy International Women's Day!  
> Thank you for 500 hits! I'm posting earlier today, 'cause I'm going out.
> 
> Trigger Warnings: panick attacks, self-inflicted injury and implied/referenced rape.
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with these themes, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

It felt wrong. Everything. Nothing. Everything felt out of place, felt wrong, felt bad, felt gross, felt, Peter was so done of feeling. He was alone, there was no one to help him, just as MJ had said, and it was hard.

Breathing shouldn’t be so difficult. So exhausting. Nevertheless, Peter felt like all his effort was going into it. He tried so hard, tried focusing, trying taking long, deep breaths, various exercises, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.

It hurt. Everything. Nothing. His head felt like it was about to explode, things were just too much; why wouldn’t they just stop? His stomach felt like it was being compressed inside him, why did it hurt so much? His hands were bleeding, his nails cutting too deep through his skin and something ese, he needed to ground himself, why was it so _hard_?

Self-control shouldn’t be so difficult. So far away from his traits, his reality. Nevertheless, Peter felt like he didn’t even know what it meant. He tried so hard, tried gripping his hair, pressuring his hands, hitting his head on things— he tried it all, he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop.

It felt like nothing, like everything, it was confusing, so infuriating, so unbearable. He fell unconscious, his last thoughts thanking his brains for putting an end to the emotions that flew through him so strongly.

As Peter woke up a second time, he could tell he didn’t feel so much better than the past night as he thought he would. He felt even more terrible, he dared think, too tired to even get out of bed. Staring at a white, boring ceiling, he tried to ignore the upcoming self-deprecating thoughts.

He tried to scream on his pillow, but nothing came out. He was so tired, even though he’d done nothing whatsoever. He tried moving, but failed not so long after a couple of tries. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything.

Peter hated it so much, he hated thinking like that, but he couldn’t help but feel useless. A burden. A murderer. Stupid, weird, unreasonable, childish, coward, freak, all he could think of; and every time he tried to bring himself up by thinking of a good trait, he ended up talking himself out of it.

There weren’t many things he was good at. He wasn’t born with any extraordinary talent, he didn’t have any interesting hobby, he wasn’t pretty, he wasn’t funny, he started to doubt his intelligence and capabilities— he could’ve just been at the right place at the right time.

The thought that without him, the world would go on without a change, like nothing ever happened, like his existence hadn’t really been relevant, didn’t help. He knew he wasn’t important; it was just hard accepting it.

Pulling him out of his thoughts, he realized the sun had risen. That also made him realize he wasn’t at his apartment. His spider-sense wasn’t tingling, which was a good signal, he was probably at someone’s he knew.

The room was wide, colorful, had many posters and guns on the walls and clothes laying around. It quite reminded him of his own, it was comforting and it felt nothing like his apartment, despite the weapons. He needed to know where he was, though, so he took a deep breath and tried forcing his body to move.

He, very slowly and patiently, got up. He sat and stared at himself in the mirror in front of him instead of walking out of the bedroom and looking for the place’s owner. He looked miserable. Dark, ugly circles under his red, slightly swollen eyes, and he was so skinny.

Then, he finally realized that the only thing he felt ungrateful for was himself. He wasn’t angry at the world, at his dead parents, at his ex-bullies, at anyone but himself.

Peter was angry at himself, because he knew that the one at fault was him. The one who went to a stupid trip to Oscorp, the one who didn’t help Uncle Ben when he could, the one who froze when Aunt May was being shot multiple times to death, the one who didn’t stand up for himself, the one who never did anything.

He was so tired of never doing anything.

He was finally hit with the realization that if he wanted things to change, if he wanted a better life, to be fine once and for all, he’d have to change, too.

Peter got up, removed the mask he didn’t know why he was still wearing, and stared at his own eyes. He simply couldn’t let his life events keep repeating themselves, more people to die, bringing himself down at every opportunity, just because he didn’t do anything. If he was to get angry at himself for failing, he’d have to at least try.

Taking a deep, long breath— one that he’d be glad to have taken the past night, when he was still shaken about the nightmare he had—, Peter punched the mirror. It hurt a lot more than it should, and he felt déjà vu, but it didn’t matter whatsoever.

“You’re going to get your shit together,” he told the distorted image, ignoring the glass piercing his skin. “You’re going to do something. You’re going to be the someone you dream to be, you’re going to try, you’re going to fail; you’re going to fucking do something!”

Tears fell on the floor, wetting the clean, soft carpet, along with blood. He didn’t care if there were any neighbors and if they could hear him, or if the person taking care of him was home. He didn’t care if he hurt his hand again and it looked bad. He didn’t care his stomach still hurt, urging him to eat something.

Peter pointed at the shattered glass in front of him, barely holding still on the wall. “You are going to stop being a _bitch_.”

He gave himself a few moments to breathe, and finally taking a look at the damage he’d done, the mirror completely collapsing in front of him.

A knock on the door. “Spidey?”

Deadpool. Oh. Peter remembered the events of the past night, then, how he probably gave away his identity to the mercenary, because he was having trouble with breathing. He didn’t remember anything after that, which was concerning to say at least.

He finally realized he just destroyed Deadpool’s mirror. He was an absolute disaster; why did he even do that? He was at the mercenary’s house, the man probably took care of him judging by the bandages on his hands and arms (now ripped and bloody, again), and Peter thanked him by breaking his things?

“Spidey, do you have your mask on? I’m coming in,” Pool said softly.

Peter looked around himself, shattered, sharp pieces of mirror surrounding him, and carefully grabbed his mask. As the door was opened, he quickly shoved it over his face and took a deep breath. Just as the anti-hero took his time to understand what happened, Peter rapidly said, “I’m so sorry for breaking the mirror.”

It was so rushed that the words almost didn’t make sense. He hoped Deadpool understood what he meant, and tried to get up to apologize properly.

“Don’t! I need to clean this first, we don’t want you stepping on anything. Your hands are already injured enough; don’t you think?”

Peter nodded, not figuring out if the man was pissed off or worried. He stood in place as he waited for Deadpool to vacuum the room, finally feeling the pain as his hands bled on the carpet. He needed to apologize again.

They stood in silence as the floor’s being cleaned, Peter fidgeting and holding back groans and cries, there were pieces on his hands for sure. He also finally realized that Deadpool had asked him to put on his mask, which probably meant he hadn’t seen his face. He had to thank him, too.

“All done!” He said, putting away the vacuum and coming back with a first aid kit.

Peter raised his hand and opened his mouth to apologize and thank him for everything, but he was quickly stopped by the mercenary’s hand on his face.

“Nope, no apologizing, I’m doing this because you’re a selfless little shit, and if no one looks out for you, you’ll end up like me.”

Peter didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t know what ending up like him meant, or how to defend himself and say he wasn’t selfless, because he couldn’t really deny that. He nodded, then, and stood silent as Deadpool once again treated his wounds.

The mercenary quietly sang _Bohemian Rhapsody_ by Queen to himself as he removed the old bandages and carefully removed the small pieces of mirror from Peter’s hands. He groaned and let out a cry a few times, trying his best not to at all.

"So, how long you think it'll take to heal all of these?" he asked casually, cleaning his left hand knuckles.

Peter didn’t look at him, still somewhat ashamed. "I don't know... It might take some time." Especially since he hadn't been eating properly.

That was a problem. Peter’s healing usually took care of injuries like those in a week easily, especially when he got good nights of sleep. The thing was, he was neither eating nor sleeping correctly— nightmares usually waking him mid-night.

When Pool finally finishes wrapping everything up, Peter lets out a long, relieved sigh. He looks at the man in front of him and ignored his protests as he said, “Thank you.”

The mercenary leaves the room to put away the kit complaining about how stubborn young spiders were. Peter smiled and got up, deciding to take a look at his place, without opening closed doors, of course, he didn’t want to intrude.

The place was very pretty, he assumed it had been expensive, too, regardless of the mess Deadpool had created. It smelled briefly like Mexican, Chinese and Thai altogether, gunpowder and perfume. There were also a lot of guns and knives through the whole place.

Peter smiled as he sat down on the sofa, bringing his hands together on his knees as he waited for the anti-hero to come back. He hoped the damage to be healed soon, but he wasn’t even sure how many bones he had broken, so he could just wait.

“Alright, Spidey,” Deadpool said as he walked to his side. “I think we should have a talk.”

Peter’s breath hitched as the man sat by his side. Not because they were close, no, that wasn’t an issue. He simply didn’t know how to explain why he had done what he did. Twice. Should he attempt to, should he leave, should he knock Deadpool out and escape—

“Only if you want to, that is. I don’t want to force you to do anything. I just think it’d maybe help to have someone knowing this kind of thing? In case, you know, you do them again or whatever…” He sounded nervous.

He was unfortunately right, too. Peter couldn’t keep doing those kind of things, for he would end up killing himself one day. He didn’t want that to happen. So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again, that time determined.

He looked at Deadpool in where he thought his eyes were. “It’s fine. You’re right.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and Peter really wanted to start talking, but words wouldn’t come out of his mouth, and it was starting to get awkward already, because he insinuated that he’d speak, but he was quiet and staring at him—

“I need you to breathe, okay? It’s alright if you don’ wanna tell me,” Deadpool told him, raising his arms, but not really touching him.

Peter nodded and forced in a deep, long breath. He couldn’t chicken out then; he had just gone through an emotional moment where he told himself to stop being a bitch. He needed to be honest.

If he was to open up, too, he had to start correctly. He knew it wasn’t really clever, that they only knew each other for barely longer than a week, but if he was to be honest, Peter naively trusted the mercenary. He took another deep breath, finally breathing normally, and without giving Deadpool time to think, removed his mask.

“Oh sweet baby Jesus!” the merc said and immediately covered his eyes. “Spidey, you can’t just—!”

Peter smiled softly. He was lonely, in need of companion, sad, and had almost nothing to lose at that point. It was all or nothing, Deadpool could reveal his identity to the world or never tell anyone, but, at that point, what did it matter?

He brought the anti-hero’s hands down cautiously, the man still closing his eyes strongly. His heart was beating like crazy, maybe he shouldn’t do this, maybe he should go home and ignore Pool forever, acting like nothing ever happened—

“It’s okay, you can open your eyes,” he said, breath caught on his throat.

Deadpool opened his eyes hesitantly, widening them when he finally understood what Peter had just done. They were both frozen in place, Peter worrying about the other’s reaction and the mercenary simply out of words.

“I’m Peter,” he finally said, sighing with relief as he had finally gotten done with it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

The young hero smiled as Deadpool took a deep breath, closed his eyes, brought his hands together and opened them again. He looked rather serious, if it was possible to assume it through the mask somehow.

“Why are you doing this, Petey?”

He didn’t really have a proper answer to that. He knew what he was doing didn’t make any sense logically, but he was emotional, and Pool was actually willing to listen to him. He took care of him not once, but three times if he stopped to think about it.

He didn’t look or try to figure out his identity when he could’ve easily done that with Peter unconscious, or something even worse. He just took care of the hero and looked out of him. It seriously got him wondering how people could hate on the mercenary without even knowing him.

Peter trusted him. That was why.

“You care,” he said, instead. It wasn’t a lie, wasn’t the total truth, but was what he allowed himself to tell the other man at the moment. Baby steps, one at a time.

Deadpool snorted. He looked away and back at him, like he was trying to decide what to do. It got Peter rather nervous, but he had to hope for the best. He chose to trust him with everything and there was no going back.

Taking a deep breath, Pool said, “I’m Wade. Wade Winston Wilson, if you’re nasty.”

Peter smiled and offered his hand, shaking _Wade_ ’s hand, who seemed a bit on the edge, but excited nonetheless. He still had a lot to say, so he fixed his posture and looked the man in the eyes.

“I’m just going to word vomit; I hope that’s okay? I’m not good with emotions and all that,” he said, trying to ease the air, as they’d probably talk for a while. Peter wanted him to be comfortable.

Wade chuckled, which got the hero’s shoulders to slump, and said, “That’s understandable, sweet curls, just, go ahead and get it out of you.”

Peter didn’t let himself take any other moment to worry about his own actions or try to take something back. He didn’t even breathe before he started, “I was born and raised in Queens. My parents died when I was really young, I don’t remember them at all, so my aunt and uncle took me in and took care of me.

“I was a good kid. Straight A’s at school, had a few friends, nerdy hobbies, a home and family that loved me. Life was good, y’know? Being an innocent and clueless kid.” He smiled. Looking back, high school hadn’t been so bad before everything at all.

Wade seemed interested, he had leaned forwards and was looking at him curiously. Peter stopped for only a brief second before he continued, “Then we went on a trip to Oscorp with the school. Damned be that company, for their recklessness caused me to become Spider-Man. It’s been a roller coaster since then.

“When the spider bit me, I didn’t think much of it, and neither did the teachers, so I soon forgot about it. The next day, however, I got incredibly sick, pain everywhere, vomiting, could barely move. That lasted for almost a week, and I didn’t even remember the spider bite at first. Then, came the powers. I didn’t know how to use them, or how, or why, so I tried to ignore it.

“Got into a fight with Uncle Ben some days after, left home and he came after me. He got mugged and shot in front of me that day.”

The mercenary was as quiet as Peter. He still had a difficult time talking about it, but he guessed it was about time to overcome that.

“It was Aunt May and me, then. Iron Man took me to fight the Civil War, and idiot me went, without a clue of what was happening or why. That doesn’t really matter now, though. I graduated and applied at MIT. May was so happy, and we had so many plans.

“She died a few weeks later in a shootout. I watched it happen. I didn’t— I did nothing.”

Wade, bless him, didn’t interrupt him. He stayed quiet and waited calmly as Peter brushed away the tears and recomposed himself. He was listening.

“I dissociated for a while. When I came back, I decided to move out. May wanted me to do what I love, y’know? I know she’d like to see me here, studying, instead of giving up college and mourning back in New York.

“I thought it’d be easier here, far from everything.” He smiled sadly. “I still don’t know if I made the right choice or not.”

He sniffed and took one too many deep breaths— he had been doing that one too many times, too, the past weeks— finally getting to the end, “Ned and MJ stopped talking to me for some reason. And, to be honest, Mr. Stark was never really close to me. So it’s been quite lonely.

“He went to see me yesterday. First time since the move. Tried to get me to apologize to him or trick me into not seeing you anymore. He thinks you’re a bad influence, thinks he’s the boss of me and my life.

“He thinks too much. I got pissed off and, I’m not particularly proud of it, but I yelled at him and sent him away. He— Stark can’t just come into my life and try to make decisions for me, simply ‘cause he gave me a suit and an apartment. And a few other things. Ugh, they just don’t matter.”

Peter finally looked up, then. Wade looked conflicted, but that didn’t stop the hero to continue, “I wasn’t thinking, so I did that. It was irresponsible and stupid, so I think you deserve my sincere thanks and an explanation. You’re a good guy, Wade.”

Silence struck for a moment. Peter was already exhausted, and the day had barely started, but he felt lighter. He didn’t regret confiding on Deadpool his life whatsoever. At least not yet, and if he was to at some point, it’d have to be something truly serious to change his mind.

He was starting to actually worry for the anti-hero’s quietness, when he finally opened his mouth to say, “Well, I guess you can say that was quite a show. Very entertaining.”

Peter couldn’t help his snort. He looked at Wade in disbelief. “Oh my god.”

“Sorry,” Wade shrugged, “I use humor to deflect my insecurities. Plus, I’m hilarious, so don’t hate.”

Peter understood well how it was to use humor as a coping mechanism. That was basically how he survived as Spider-Man after Uncle Ben’s death, so he couldn’t, even if he wanted, say anything about that. He smiled.

“Yeah, alright.”

He felt quite guilty for just dropping everything on Wade, though. He didn’t exactly say he wanted to listen, when Peter thought about it. He just said they should talk. Maybe he misunderstood the underlines and just dumped basically all of his life on a person who didn’t need that kind of information on their mind.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, then. “I’d… understand if you want me to leave.”

Maybe he wasn’t making sense, maybe Wade actually didn’t mind listening to him talk about his depressing background story, and he was just overthinking. Being dramatic as always. Maybe he was actually being able to have something good since the bite.

“The hell?” Wade moved for the first time since they sat down, uncrossing his legs and throwing his hands up. “Why would I want that?”

Peter crossed his arms and looked at his legs. “I don’t know? I just figured— You already have your things to deal with, you don’t need me bringing negativity to your life like this.”

A loud, exaggerated laugh broke through the tense air. Peter tilted his head to the side, a bit taken aback, as he watched Wade laugh like a maniac.

“Baby,” he said, “you’re too good for me. There’s no way you’re doing me any bad. Come on. You’re like a three-year-old little boy who doesn’t know yet that his mommy is just asleep and not dead. You’d cry and she’d laugh at you, ‘cause you’re so cute—!”

Peter shook his head with a smile. He didn’t have to worry, they’d be fine.

He smiled. “That’s enough, Wade, I’ve told you countless times I’m not a kid, when will you grasp that?”

“When you stop being so adorable!”

Wade said that and kindly pulled both of Peter’s cheeks, playing with them and making a face. The hero couldn’t stop the laugh, the merc really knew how to cheer him up. He noticed him smiling, too, even with the fabric on the way.

"Well, Master Yoda once said that size doesn't matter, and no one judged him for being small!" Peter said, crossing his arms, only half joking.

Wade snorted. “Oh my god, he did not say that!”

“Did so!” He argued back, smiling softly. “Size matters not,” Peter said, doing the better impersonation he could, “Look at me, judge me by my size, do you?”

It was silent for a few seconds, until Wade burst into a loud laugh, and he couldn’t resist but join him in it. It was all or nothing, but, for the moment, Peter chose not to care at all. Wade was by his side, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

"It’s just so fucked up, man, why don't they have at least a strong glass capsule or something protecting the droids on their ships? They're out in the open just like that, an easy target!" Wade pointed out.

Peter had spent the night over again. He really didn’t want to be alone, so the merc had let him stay. They had a bit of an argument about who’d sleep on the bed and who’d take the sofa, but Wade eventually convinced him to take his bedroom, as it’d be more comfortable and better for his injuries.

He left early to get his things and headed to MIT, promising to come back after he got his things done. And so he did, unbothered by the day, things were good, despite the events with Mr. Stark and the injuries. No one questioned his both bandaged arms, his coffee was good and he presented a project successfully.

They had started watching _Star Wars_ , since Peter had all the time in the world and they were having a good time together. Wade talked a lot through the whole movie, but Peter didn’t care, he had watched them so many times he could recite every sentence.

Plus, the man had a point. Droids weren’t cared for that much, especially when they were on a ship and a battle broke through, they didn’t have any sort of protection against basically anything that could hit them.

"What if they have to fix something and get out of their spots?"

Wade scoffed. "I don't know, just make it possible to open it, it's not hard on a universe like theirs."

"Okay.” Peter didn’t like to admit he was wrong out loud, especially to someone who didn’t need an ego boost, but ended up sighing and saying, “You have a point."

"I always have a point," Wade said, triumphal, as if he had just won an argument with Yoda himself.

The movie ended, but the mercenary didn’t stop talking. Peter enjoyed it, he didn’t feel the need to talk back every other sentence, because Wade spoke a lot and most of the time he acted like he was talking to himself. He always had something to say.

They were sitting on the floor, Pool eating some popcorn he had made before the movie, and Peter was hugging a pillow he had taken from the sofa. He laughed again as the man explained how he would have done things if he had been on Luke Skywalker’s place.

He hadn’t even noticed that the news was on, until something caught his attention. Wade, too, stopped talking to look at the screen when he heard what the reporter was saying.

"The child molester Steven Westcott, 34, has recently gotten out of jail after 8 years locked up. The man in question was convicted for sexually assaulting a, at the time, 9-year-old boy, whose identity shall be kept anonymous for protection.

"Westcott was released this morning, at 8:13. There were protesters at the scene—"

Peter suddenly stopped paying attention. The name was familiar, so oddly familiar for some reason. He knew that man, he simply didn’t remember from where, how or when. Maybe when he was younger?

“— as ‘Skip’ by those close—”

Skip. His older, kind, funny _friend_ , who said he was smart and called him “Einsten” and. Skip. Skip, Skip, Skip. Who showed him those magazines and did those things to him and he said he’d make Peter feel good and he touched him and he kissed him and—

"Peter?”

How could he have forgotten? How could he live his life as if that sick, disgusting piece of shit hadn’t touched him and put his tongue inside his mouth and made him cry and laughed at him? Peter felt nauseated. He felt filthy, felt stupid, felt awful, felt _wrong_.

He didn’t even notice he had moved until he felt the puke make its way out of his mouth. There was barely even anything to get out of him to being with, he only had a coffee and a small salad, but his throat had closed up and he felt like throwing up again.

He hadn’t felt that sick in a long while, since the spider bite. But the memories kept flashing and coming back and it was so horrible, the images and feelings, it was all so terrifying, Peter felt fucking _scared_.

Skip pinning him down on the bed, holding him straight and threatening him if he screamed, if he let out a sound, if he told anyone, if he did anything other what he was told to do. And he did it all, because he was horrified.

“Baby doll?”

He let it happen, he was frozen, Skip was over him, he felt so small, so powerless, so weak. The grin on the man’s face was unforgettable, so devilish, like he had wanted to do that for so long, and Peter was so naïve. So stupid.

It took weeks for him to create courage enough to tell Aunt May and Uncle Ben. He hadn’t even told them directly; Ned was the one who told the adults what Peter had went through. He was just a kid; he was at loss of what to do.

But the worst of all, he got out. He got out and he could go after Peter again or worse, he could go after other innocent children, just like little, young him was. And he could do nothing about it. He could just remember and cry over the flashbacks as they overwhelmed his mind.

Couldn’t he get a break?

“Petey pie.”

Wade? Oh god, Wade. He was still there.

“I need you to look at me.”

Peter slowly looked up, meeting the masked man’s face, which wasn’t really close, but not very afar. He looked at his surroundings after, feeling a sting of relief as he noticed he hadn’t puked anywhere out of the toilet.

He had still embarrassed himself in front of the mercenary, but the idea of Skip being out on the streets didn’t leave his mind, so he couldn’t rest knowing the monster was possibly eyeing young children once again, looking for new prey.

He needed to do something. He couldn’t just watch everything happen again, the same way, and ruin little _kids_ ’ lives. He was Spider-Man for god’s sake, he wasn’t a judge, but he still was a super-hero. He just needed to make a plan.

“You good?”

Oh, right. Peter looked at the merc again and nodded. Should he tell him? He had just remembered; he didn’t even know what to do with that information. Maybe it was time to look for a therapist.

“Bullshit,” Wade said, sitting up straight. “You know you can talk to me.”

He nodded again, this time truthfully. He had just told him everything, what would it hurt to tell him that, too? Peter didn’t mind it; he was just having a hard time figuring how to put it in words. He, himself barely knew what had happened.

He also felt bad. The anti-hero kept taking care of him repeatedly, like he was a toddler, because he kept being weak. He needed to do something.

“The kid on the news,” he said carefully, looking up.

Wade tilted his head to the side. “Westcott?”

Peter shook his head, breathing in and out. He could do it, it was nothing serious, nothing major, he did worse the day before, why was he having such difficulty doing that?

“The 9-year-old boy,” Wade said, still confused, but more sure. They weren’t paying attention to the news at all, the only moment being before Peter freaked out. The reporter had only mentioned 2 specific people.

The young hero nodded.

“It was me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: I feel like I have to explain the reason behind the unmasking so soon (we’re only on chapter 5!). Peter is all alone. He fights with Tony, and he feels too bad and awkward to try to talk to MJ or Ned. He doesn’t have anyone to rely on at the moment, as does Deadpool.  
> I didn’t really want focus on Wade on this fanfic at all (and I failed miserably), but you can notice he’s all by himself, too. He talks with Weasel, but he doesn’t feel like the guy takes him seriously. It doesn’t really help. He also feels like he doesn’t have anyone to rely on.  
> They only have each other. So, regardless of it being reasonable or not, they trust one another.
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: paranoia (not the mental condition), attempted rape/non con, pedophilia and panic attack.
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with these themes, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

He wanted to do so many things. Grab the man by his neck, spit on his face and strangle him to death; take him by surprise, tie him up and make him suffer for days without end; inflict the same pain he had made Peter go through on him and leave him to die.

He had many plans on mind. Many ideas, most that would end with the man dead or dying. He wanted to be able to perform all of them just to watch the man scream every time, pleading for mercy. But Skip hadn’t been merciful, so why should he?

There were endless possibilities, and he knew he could get away with most of them. He had various opportunities, too, and a high chance of succeeding. After all, Skip was just human, but he had evident physical advantages.

So what was stopping him? Why couldn’t he simply go after the man that destroyed maybe not only one, but possibly multiple children’s lives? He deserved it.

“I’m not disagreeing with you, sugar, I’m just saying that this isn’t you. You’re going to regret it.”

Wade didn’t think it was a good idea. That was incredibly hypocrite on itself, because when Peter first revealed what happened to him, the merc had been furious. He’d managed to keep composure and tell the hero that things would get better when he had laughed about how pathetic his life was.

“I’ll always be here for you, Petey,” he had said. “’Cause I’m pretty fucked up, too, and if that isn’t fate, I don’t know what it is.”

Peter had even managed a smile at him. After an emotional hug and a few moments of the calming music Wade had put on the TV, however, Peter decided Skip needed to be punished. He quietly voiced that, and initially, the anti-hero had even agreed.

Wade had stopped to think about it, though, and immediately tried to stop the young hero from finishing his train of thought.

“Spider-Man doesn’t kill,” he had said.

He was right. Spider-Man didn’t ever kill, didn’t even think about it. He followed his own morals and never surpassed the line he drew. It would be scandalous if news broke about the superhero murdering someone— especially if intentionally.

But Peter Parker wasn’t Spider-Man. Peter Parker had killed before. He killed Uncle Ben. Aunt May. He wasn’t an innocent man, even because, if he was, he wouldn’t want to do those things to his ex-abuser, would he?

“Listen, why don’t we wait until tomorrow and see what we’re going to do?” Wade asked, exasperation evident on his tone.

Peter frowned. “’We’?”

Wade was sitting with his legs crossed on the floor in front of him, while he sat on the sofa, also cross-legged. He was facing Peter very intensely; even with the mask on the way, he could feel the staring.

The mercenary had his arms crossed very close to his chest, and if Peter was to be honest, he looked like a child. He had to suppress a laugh when he noticed it, copying the other’s posture.

“Are you making fun of me, sweet curls?”

It was honestly impressive how every time the man was to say his name, he came up with a new pet name. Peter wasn’t complaining, of course, he liked the brief feeling of being special; he was genuinely amazed.

Snorting, he tried his best not to break into giggles. He frowned and tried to look angry, saying, “No, why would I do that?”

Wade uncrossed his arms, putting them on his hips. Peter could see him smirking, but copied his movements again, like it was only natural. He couldn’t help a chuckle when he did the same, and Pool dragged himself forward, still smiling.

Raising an eyebrow, he sat on the floor, too, facing the man quite closely. If Wade did that again, they’d most certainly touch.

“Baby boy, why would you lie to me?!”

Peter didn’t see it coming. He laughed when the merc said that, only to be interrupted with a big body over his, tickling his sides. He gasped with shock at first, but inevitably started to laugh uncontrollably.

“Stop!” he laughed.

Wade was laughing, too, and being reasonably careful with the hero’s arms and hands, continued to tickle him, like he heard nothing.

“Wade!” Peter could feel tears of laughter falling. “DP, stop!”

The mercenary stopped, still laughing quite a bit, but he backed away. Peter used that moment to take a deep breath, a last giggle and to get back up, sitting again. He looked at the man in front of him in confusion, not having expected him to actually had stopped.

“Now, that’s a new one!” Wade said excitedly. “I have tons of nicknames for you, and that’s the… what, fourth one you call me?”

Peter looked at him in awe. Maybe he should try coming up with new names for him, as he seemed to appreciate them nicely. He smiled, already thinking of quite a few dumb ones.

Wade crossed his legs again, putting his hands over his heart. “It’s not a big accomplishment, but it’s something. I’m so proud of you.” He rubbed his eye over the mask with a finger. “They grow so fast.”

The hero rolled his eyes with an amused smile. “Anyone ever called you out on how goofy you are? You’re impossible.”

Wade went on a rant about how funny he was and how unappreciative other people were of that and other traits of his. Peter might have spent quite a few hours listening to him talk, as he went from that to telling him about the wild team ups he had participated on before.

He noticed the anti-hero knew a lot of people. Noticing, too, that most of them didn’t seem to like him, or didn’t seem to even try to get to know him so they’d get a better idea of who the man was. That was a disappointing attitude, on Peter’s opinion. But it was their loss.

That night, he refused to sleep over again, not because he felt like going to his apartment, no, he didn’t want to think about that yet, but because he couldn’t keep stealing the bed from his owner, forcing him to sleep on the sofa. It wasn’t a rough, uncomfortable sofa, Wade had even used that as an argument, but it wasn’t a bed, either.

Not really sure if the man had understood his point and that he didn’t dislike him or felt uncomfortable, Peter left. He decided not to patrol, it had been a week, but the people had gone longer without him. Everything would be okay.

He had trouble sleeping that night. It was way harder than falling asleep on Wade’s house, for an unknown, weird reason. But it wasn’t news either, so he brushed it off as he headed to his favorite café the next morning.

They had agreed on meeting for patrol earlier, so they could watch Skip for a couple hours. Wade had convinced him that it wasn’t the right thing to just go after the man, so they decided on watching him for a week. If they caught him doing anything bad, Spider-Man would make sure the man never left prison again.

If they went a week and nothing happened, they had agreed, Peter was allowed to give him a lesson. Not kill or take him, no, but teach him a few things. It would be hypocrite of Wade if he didn’t let him do that at least, after all.

Classes went by alright. He was surprised to notice how he was being able to pay attention to the professors and the lessons, always taking notes and actually asking questions. The professionals seemed surprised by his development, but were happy to answer him.

So he quickly walked to his apartment after his last period, excited to see Wade and rather stressed and anxious about Skip. He needed to do it, he knew he did.

“Do you think Fury is a furry?”

Deadpool’s voice startled him as he turned around to face the man. His spider-sense didn’t warn him, and he couldn’t point out if that was a really bad or good thing.

He frowned at the question. “A what?”

“Y’know, a furry! People who dress as animals an—”

Wade was articulating with his hands agitatedly, looking at them and speaking excitedly. Peter frowned, he had to admit it wasn’t the best thing when the man decided to talk about the kinks he knew about. Some were truly horrifying, and Peter didn’t know if he could ever forget those.

“I swear, if this is another weird kink, I can and will rip your teeth out,” he said, putting his hands on his hips.

His confidence was also something that was getting better, fortunately. Even after the bad week and the argument with Mr. Stark, he felt alright. He was happy that he was slowly going back to who he used to be, even if he wouldn’t be able to do that completely.

“Woah, sweetheart, calm down!” Wade put his hands up defensively. “Though I have to admit, you’re hot when you’re angry.”

Peter choked on his own saliva, widening his eyes as he looked at the mercenary in shock. He knew about the flirtatious nature of the man, heck, his ass had been talked about on the past, but never this directly. He wasn’t used to compliments.

“Deadpool!”

Wade laughed and didn’t even say anything as he headed for Skip’s house. Peter didn’t question how he knew where the man lived, because he’d done research himself. Karen had been very useful and incredibly understanding. Peter didn’t know if she knew, because she had files on Skip with his name involved, or if she was just treating him better because he was getting older.

It wasn’t that she treated him bad before, oh no, the hero would never say anything like that. She was programmed to be respectful and kind, after all, but she was very restrictive. Ever since Peter changed her a bit, she had been even friendlier, if possible.

Brushing his thoughts away, he stopped on the building in front of Skip’s house. They could watch him from the position, knowing the man couldn’t see them.

There were a lot of wrong things with what Peter had gathered the previous night. The first of them was that Skip had gone through other trials, charged against sexual assault two more times before Peter, but won and found innocent.

The second of them was that the house he had was right in front of a primary school. He could easily watch kids play during recess if he put his head out of the window, maybe even talk to them. It wasn’t a good thing at all.

Wade stood silent as he and Peter watched Skip open his window with a smile— the hero could tell it was malicious the moment he saw it. He had seen it before. They watched silently as the kids played and ran around with wide smiles, only a few feet away from the molester. It sent chills down Peter’s spine.

The worst of all was that he could do nothing about it. He was worried sick Skip would try to abduct one or even more of the children and do horrible things while he wasn’t there, or do something to other kids, or.

Karen wasn’t recording for nothing, however. They needed incriminating footage, and it wasn’t hard when Skip was only naturally sick. He couldn’t put him behind bars with only kid watching, though, and that was frustrating.

They spent three hours that day, on the same place, just watching. Peter felt like throwing up every time Skip’s smile widened as a kid looked at his direction. When the bell rang and the kids all went home, the man left his place and closed the window.

He sighed tiredly and thanked Wade for staying there with him, not even noticing the man had started eating chips. He didn’t even see where those came from, from all he knew, Pool could’ve left and he didn’t even bat an eye.

They still patrolled, even if the man wouldn’t leave Peter’s mind any second. Even if Wade seemed to notice his uneasiness, assuring him they’d be there the following day again and they would put Skip where he belonged in the end. It would be okay.

Peter didn’t accept Wade’s offer to come over after patrol, it was late and he had to wake up early the next day, after all. He thanked him, though, and promised to accept the next time.

He had trouble sleeping that night, too. A terrible nightmare waking him way too earlier than he should get up, shaking him up enough he had to enter the tub once again to calm down. He had a very tiring time at MIT, too, being exhausted as he met up with the mercenary on their usual place.

It reminded him he should pay Gabby a visit someday soon.

“I mean, yeah, that is a gun in my pants, but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you.”

Deadpool had sneaked on him once again. Peter, who had been taken off guard, turned around to be met with Wade wearing way too much gear. He had two extra pistols on his belt and an extra chain of bullets.

Peter smiled, his shoulders, once tense from the stress, falling with relief. “I don’t even know why I put up with you.”

“’Cause I’m awesome, sugar lips, and you know it,” Wade said, walking away. Peter could swear he saw him wink.

They did the same thing again. Skip didn’t look like he had taken a shower for a few days, and he wasn’t even looking that bad the day before. He children watched again carelessly the whole day, like it was only natural of people to do that. Like it was okay.

Peter knew it wasn’t like the day before, though. He noticed the change on Skip’s eyes. It had been too long, and he was being exposed to what he wanted on a daily basis since he left prison. He looked more desirous. Hungry.

He swallowed his puke down his throat and continued to watch.

Nothing happened during the three hours they stood there, Peter not sure if he was glad or angry, and they left to patrol. He thanked Wade again as they got up and walked away.

Peter was seeing a change on the crimes of the town. People were getting used to him and Deadpool, the criminals feared the mercenary. With reason, the hero thought and agreed. He was no man to mess with.

They fought little crime that night, mostly just wandering around and talking. Wade talked the most, obviously, especially because Peter was so tired. If the merc noticed it, he didn’t mention it at any point.

Accepting Wade’s offer to say over his place for a while, they headed there almost two hours earlier than the usual time they finished patrol. Peter didn’t know if the anti-hero thought that he could use some resting or if he just thought crime was over for the night.

“Okay, but hear me out, movie concept: _Sharknado_ starring Storm from X-People—because X- _Men_ is just sexist—; she can control the tornado, but not the sharks."

The hero started to wonder if Wade was ever diagnosed with anything. He didn’t think the man to be crazy, maybe way too extroverted and honest, no filter between the mouth and the brain, but not insane. DP seemed to disagree, however, often referring to himself as “nuts” and “out of my mind”.

Peter looked at him tiredly, he was considering whether he should try convince the man to let him crash on his couch or go back to his. "Wade... I would ask if you're okay, but I genuinely would pay to watch that."

He ended up falling asleep on the sofa half an hour later, not worrying about taking Wade’s bed from him that time.

Waking up on a soft surface with blankets around him, Peter got up angrily and glared at the mercenary, who was sleeping on the couch, until he woke up.

“Holy shit, baby boy, you can’t just do that!”

Wade later complained about being woken up way earlier than he appreciated while he cooked something, and Peter complained about how he had purposefully fallen asleep on the couch, but woken up on a bed that wasn’t even his.

Pool laughed. “I like spoiling ya, Pete, the sooner you accept it, the better.”

He actually managed to eat two pancakes Wade had cooked for him that morning, somehow. He didn’t even dare look at syrup or the abnormal amount of cream the merc put on his own plate, though.

It was easier to deal with classes, too. Peter was starting to think Wade had some sort of hidden superpower that made his life easier every time they met.

They met up the same time on the same place later again. Skip had taken a shower, apparently, and even bothered to brush his hair. Peter was suspicious. He was wearing nicer clothes and smelling like perfume, if he squinted his nose enough.

Three hours went by, but nothing had happened. The man watched as the children from different classes walked in and out for recess, playing happily— or not.

Peter was suspicious, but still got up and patrolled with Wade just as the days before. They stopped more crimes than the night before, inevitably beating up a guy who attempted rape.

Wade asked him to come over again, but the hero wanted to check on Skip. His spider-sense was slightly tingling the whole time they watched him, but nothing happened, so he decided to pay him a visit later.

“Wanna watch a movie at mine?”

Peter struggled not to stutter the lie out. “I don’t watch movies when I’m tired, sorry.”

It was definitively on his top 5 list of worse lies he ever told people. He didn’t even know why he thought that’d explain anything. Hoping Wade would see reason on his answer somehow, he stood there awkwardly.

“Aw, why?” Wade seemed disappointed, but didn’t even question him.

Peter didn’t know how to answer that, too. It wasn’t a lie that he fell asleep every time he watched something while tired, but he couldn’t just expect that to work.

“I… Um, I just don’t like it.” Slapping himself internally, he sighed.

“That’s— wait, it’s because you fall asleep, isn’t it? Like a kid after spending the day playing!” Wade was making fun of him. And Peter couldn’t even say it was a lie— because it wasn’t.

He groaned, then. “I’m not a kid!”

DP stopped poking fun at him eventually and headed home. Peter sighed of relief as he swung to Skip’s house. As he got closer, his spider-sense started to tingle more. He swung faster. No. No, no, no, he wouldn’t let it happen to anyone else.

Making sure Karen was recording everything, he busted through Skip’s door, not caring about property damage.

What he saw, however, made him actually throw up.

There was a kid, small, defenseless and scared, he was trembling, crying, on the bed. Naked. Beneath Steven Westcott. Who had his pants down, hands under his underwear, a smug smile on his face.

Everything seemed to stop. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t, it was like he was watching himself, like he was watching from a third-person point of view what had happened to him. He froze.

“Petey? Is everything okay?”

It took him a long second to realize it was Wade’s voice. Not Skip’s. Never Skip’s. He doesn’t want to hear his voice again. Wade’s voice’s low and deep, but it’s safe. It’s sweet. He had never and would never hurt Peter. He’s not Skip.

“I’m coming, okay? Stay where you are. It’s okay. I’m coming.”

Karen had called him. Wade was coming. It was okay. He felt pathetic as Skip widened his eyes when he saw him on the door, frozen. He couldn’t know. No. He didn’t know. All he saw was Spider-Man. An honorable hero.

Peter didn’t even notice his arms move as he webbed the man on the floor when he attempted to run. He was glad he did that, at least. Right after, however, he pushed his mask over his nose and puked all over the floor in front of him.

The kid was on shock, too. Still shaking and crying horrors, but he didn’t move. But Peter couldn’t approach him. He couldn’t. Not when Skip was webbed to the ground, only a few feet away from him, trying to shout through the web on his mouth.

He couldn’t do it.

“Oh shit.”

In a matter of seconds, it seemed, Skip was beaten unconscious, the kid was covered with a blanket and Wade was holding his shoulders nicely, whispering comfort words.

He noticed he wasn’t breathing. Oh no, he couldn’t do that. Not while everything was happening. Not in front of _him_. Wade was with him, he was safe, it was okay, he was alright, Skip was unconscious, everything was okay.

“—kay. I’m here.”

That was all he needed to hear. His breathing started to slowly go back to normal, and when he finally calmed down completely, he felt tears roll down his cheeks.

“Can I hug you?”

He nodded a few times. Wade was warm. Safe. Peter would be okay.

* * *

“Where’d ya put your phone? Do you have a secret pocket? Is that why your ass’s so—”

After Wade comforted him, Peter updated himself on what happened and what was happening. The kid was still crying, but seeing the hero calm, he approached him and thanked him so quietly. He smiled softly, hugging the kid and assuring him everything would be okay.

They stood with him until police got there, and Peter promised he’d be back on 10 minutes with a pen drive and footage of what he had seen. So the man could perish on a cell for the rest of his life.

Wade suggested he accompanied him, but he said it was okay, it’d be faster if he went by himself. So he swung to his apartment and quickly connected Karen to his laptop, grabbing an empty pen drive he had and asking her to transfer the footage to it.

There were a lot of hours of Skip only watching the children, but he guessed that would end up being useful, too, so he asked her to include it as well.

He swung back to the scene just as fast as he had when he got there the first time, handing a police officer the pen drive. She was slightly pale, but Peter thought it was because of what had happened.

Apparently, however, Wade had threatened every cop on the scene, so they would never let Skip get out of jail. When told that was the judge’s decision, he had said horrible things to them and threatened to pay the judge a visit, too. Pool told him all of that proudly.

When Peter asked how he knew where he was, Wade only shook his head. He said something about having his ninja ways, and that they were a secret. Only a ninja could know a ninja’s secrets, apparently.

“No,” Peter quickly interrupted him. What was it with his ass, anyway? “Karen seemed to have found your number on the internet and called you for me.”

Wade’s number was everywhere. He was not subtle at all about who he was or how to find him, because even his Wikipedia had his number and an address. It wasn’t the one they usually went to, but definitely owned by him.

Peter had thanked Karen endlessly for calling him, too. He was glad she was smart enough to call the mercenary first— had she called Mr. Stark, as she’d have done if he hadn’t made changes, things would probably have ended up badly.

“Karen who?” Wade asked, tilting his head to the side.

They were sitting on a roof, resting after the unexpected events, Peter not even caring he’d probably not get any sleep, or worrying about how he was getting hungry again.

Peter swung his legs around, replying, “My A.I.”

“You have an A.I.?!”

Wade seemed really surprised. He thought people knew about Karen, because, well, Iron Man had an A.I., and his suit is Stark Tech. It made sense to assume their inside features were similar.

Peter looked at Pool with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, she’s really cool. Like, she likes you, too, cool.”

At that, Wade jumped up immediately, opening his mouth widely. “Your A.I. likes _me_?”

Peter was surprised when he noticed, too. She didn’t ever tell him that Mr. Stark had programmed her to call him if Deadpool was near, or told him about everything he had done of bad. She spoke quite fondly of him, if he was honest. It was no wonder she called him when she noted his panic previously.

He nodded excitedly, Peter liked to praise Wade, even if not directly. God knows he needs it.

“Okay,” the merc said, sitting down beside him once again, seemingly calming himself down. “That’s fucking dope.”

Peter erupted into giggles after a moment of silence. Wade followed him, too, after a second, and they just watched the city after they stopped. It was quiet, compared to Queens, really quiet, and the moon was high up once again.

It was late, too late, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, so he just brushed it off and acted like he didn’t have to go to college in a few hours. Wade didn’t bother to mention it either, both just enjoying the view and quiet.

“Petey pie,” Wade called quietly.

The hero had never heard him speak so quietly before. Freeze and not talk, yes, but not talk quietly. He was always loud, always talking. It rather scared him seeing the anti-hero call him like that.

“Yeah?” His voice was quiet, too, matching tones with Wade.

Wade turned around and was facing him completely, and even fixed his posture. Peter immediately did the same, he was nervous then, he had never seen the other man act like that.

“You trust me, right?” Pool was fidgeting. Unquiet. Peter was actually sweating.

He nodded, not even thinking twice. He thought they had cleared that up the moment he told him who he was and showed him his face. There was no doubt he would trust Deadpool with his life. He didn’t know what that said about him, but he didn’t care.

“Why?”

It was so quiet Peter wouldn’t have heard him if his senses weren’t dialed to eleven. He was vulnerable. Insecure. But that also meant that he trusted the hero enough to let him see the merc on his weak state.

Peter smiled sadly, softly, maybe both. He had been vague the first time he was asked that. He guessed he needed to be more eloquent, if he wanted Pool to trust him more and feel better about himself.

“You make me feel safe,” he said. “You’re honest. You’re considerate. You stood by my side and helped me so many times, even when I stood you up for almost a week. You’re trustworthy, kind, passionate, funny.

“You’re my friend, Wade.”

He didn’t want to cry, not at the moment, so he sucked back a few tears. “My only friend” went by unsaid, but he was sure the other man knew that already. He had to beat himself not to say “best friend”, both because he was unsure if DP thought that of him, too, and because he was still bitter about Ned and MJ.

He heard a sniffle and looked up, having looked down of embarrassment while speaking, and noticed that Wade was crying, too. He gets closer to him and opens his arms, not bothering to ask if he wants it or not. None of them can speak anyway.

On a second, the merc was on his chest. He held tightly the man and put his head over the other’s, muttering and repeating good things about him. He knew how it felt not to believe in yourself. He knew how it felt to believe that nothing would ever go right on his life. It was okay.

They stayed in that position for minutes, hours, seconds, he would never know. He just knew it was comforting, warm and safe. Wasn’t that all that mattered anyway?

“Okay, enough of being the little spoon,” Wade said, getting up and sniffing.

Peter smiled, nodding and watching as the other man recomposed himself. The hero was about to remove his mask, for it was a mess. Wet and snotty. Disgusting would be the correct word, he guessed. But he wouldn’t, on sane mind, remove his mask on the open. So he’d have to wait until he got somewhere safe.

Watching the other take a deep breath, he assumed he was trying to calm himself down. It was then when Pool said, “Pete.”

He looked at him, nodding, waiting for him to continue. He didn’t feel as anxious as he should, probably because he still felt quite warm. It had been a hard day and he could barely process his own feelings, after all.

“Let’s go home.”

Oh.

Home. Those words. Was Wade talking about his house? He seemed to be messing with him, getting all serious and just say that. But those words meant a lot to him. He might as well start crying again, knowing himself.

He ignored the fat new tears that rolled down his cheeks as he smiled widely. He didn’t even know he could cry that much. Peter nodded and followed Wade, ignoring the worried looks he kept giving him once in a while.

They entered the house, but the young hero felt different. It was home. He was safe.

He didn’t even remember falling asleep, only waking up when his alarm played loudly. Okay, yeah, he did keep his phone on his suit, but it wasn’t on his ass, okay?

Smiling at Wade a last time, he walked to his apartment to change and to class. He was happy. He didn’t care about the previous day’s events. Skip was going to be locked up again, he was safe. And he had a home. Everything was wonderful.

The day went by wonderfully. He walked home with a smile that reached his eyes, noticing how a few people smiled back at him and nodded. Not knocking the door and knowing it would be unlocked, he opened it and stepped inside.

There was an immediate smell of cherry pie. Peter was going to die on the spot.

“Welcome home, honey!” Wade called from the kitchen.

He was wearing his apron, of course, but the thing that surprised Peter the most, was that he wasn’t wearing his costume.

Wade wasn’t wearing a mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: I, in all honesty, don't enjoy this work as much as I did when I first started writing it. Aside from all of the projecting I did onto the characters (Peter), I feel like I've driften apart from Marvel a bit.  
> The story, also, really pleased me at the beginning, but I don't like it as much now. I'm sorry if that's a turn down for you guys, but I'm always trying to improve, and this is an old work, I'm only writing what I've already prepared a few months ago.
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my gems, thank you for 1k hits!  
> To be honest, I don't even know why I keep writing this shit. Just take whatever is this I write.
> 
> Trigger Warning: calories counting.
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with this theme, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

When Peter revealed his identity to Deadpool, he didn’t expect anything in return. He wanted some closure, if he was honest, and he trusted the man. He didn’t even think of the possibility of the merc thinking he owed him something.

So, when he realized that Wade wasn’t wearing a mask, he dropped everything he was holding, including some hot coffee on his feet, and didn’t dare look up.

“Baby boy!”

He could hear Wade running to him, picking up the cup and walking away to grab something to clean the floor. He didn’t say a word; he didn’t know what to say at all.

His arms had been burnt a little, too, but it wasn’t anything serious. They were almost fully healed, thanks to Wade and his superpower of getting Peter to sleep and eat somewhat. It still hurt, though, and his feet weren’t any better.

Wade approached him again, and Peter felt a soft cloth being rubbed against his shoes and where he assumed he had dropped the drink.

“You need to be more careful, sunshine,” he said, as if he wasn’t the one not wearing his mask.

Peter finally allowed himself to open his mouth and attempt a question when the merc walked away again, after asking him to take off his shoes, that were way too soaked with coffee.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Wade, um, you’re not wearing your mask. I can’t take off my shoes like this.”

That was a lie. He absolutely could easily remove his shoes without his hands, it wasn’t a difficult task. He was just getting tired of covering his face, and it didn’t seem like Wade, himself was going to address what had just happened.

Silence struck for what seemed an eternity. It could’ve been a second, though, but Peter was getting really nervous. Had he done anything wrong? Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything at all?

“I know.”

Oh well. He wasn’t expecting that.

He didn’t move, not knowing what to do. Had Wade intended for him to see him, then? It was a terrible plan, he had to admit, but he still wasn’t sure. The mercenary didn’t tell him he could open his eyes, so he might be just putting it on.

A sigh came from Wade’s direction. “Gorgeous, you can open your eyes. It’s okay, I want you to see.”

Peter’s breath hitched, and it wasn’t even because of the nickname. Deadpool never let anyone see his face. He sometimes got injured and his suit got ripped in battle, but he would quickly cover it with something or leave immediately.

For someone who had his number and address for the world to see, it was surely a weird thing to do, but what bothered Peter the most was that it wasn’t just his face, it was his whole body. He suspected he might have a physical mutation given to his power, but he couldn’t ever be sure.

He slowly took his hands away from his face. He felt guilty, however, and didn’t open his eyes. “Wade, you know you don’t need to do this, right? I didn’t just show you my face so you’d show me yours. I know it’s a big deal.”

His voice was soft, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not. Everyone knew Pool hated pity, even if he wasn’t pitying him, he was known for jumping into conclusions.

“I know, Petey. I’m doin’ this ‘cause I trust ya.”

Wade was nervous, and that only worsened Peter’s worry. Maybe he was being forced to do that? Maybe he didn’t want to, or didn’t trust him at all, but felt guilty and the need to return what the hero had done?

"Are you sure about this?"

Wade sighed, exasperation obvious on his tone. "I have spoken."

It got a laugh out of him, but he was still unsure. He didn’t want to force him to do anything, even if he was the one asking and he even quoted _The Mandalorian_ , but—

Hands grasped his shoulders gently. He couldn’t breathe once again.

“Open your eyes, Peter.”

The young hero took a deep breath and opened his eyes slowly, looking down. He expected to see only the floor and their feet, maybe a bit of their legs, and Wade to be wearing pants. He didn’t expect to see the anti-hero’s legs covered in scars.

That made him look up almost right after. Was he hurt? What had happened?

Oh.

“Ugly, right?” Wade laughed bitterly. “It’s okay, you can puke. I don’t judge.”

It all made sense for Peter then. The low self-esteem, social isolation, self-deprecating jokes, fear of rejection, the fear of showing his skin. He was covered in scars, apparently head to toes, and he had no hair whatsoever.

"Your eyes are really pretty,” he word vomits. Stupid brain. Stupid mouth. Shouldn’t have said that.

Wade looks at him with nothing but confusion. He makes a face, releasing the smaller man’s shoulders and looking at his eyes— he had been looking everywhere but at the hero.

"I- what?"

Peter smiled softly. Maybe that would help with the merc’s insecurities, maybe not. He had to try. "You have a really defined jaw and a beautiful face shape."

Wade looked at him like he had just grown a third arm and a tail. They just stared at each other for a few seconds, but Peter was feeling more confident. He had a mission.

"Would you... mind to repeat that? Just once? I don't think I... heard you right."

He hated the look on Wade’s face. He looked like he doubted every word that came from Peter’s mouth, like he was expecting the hero to start laughing and saying it was a joke, calling his disgusting afterwards.

Peter actually, honestly liked the man’s face. He was being truthful on his words, it wasn’t a face he couldn’t get used to and it wasn’t a face that would change anything between them.

"Your insecurities don't define you, DP, you actually have really good bone structure and body shape,” he unconsciously looked the man up and down. “And your scars? They’re not actually the big deal you make them be. You know the saying that goes, ‘A scar only means you’re stronger than what tried to hurt you’? Yeah."

He didn’t even remember where he read that, but it was surely after he noticed stupid, small scars over his body. Spider-Man got into quite a few battles and he didn’t always leave them without bleeding, it was inevitable.

He had a hard time dealing with other things related to his image, mainly his weight. But that was something to discuss another time, he was doing better, after all. What mattered at the moment was that he needed to make sure Wade believed in him.

"Woah."

They were close. Wade’s eyes met his, and he’d have been feeling extra nervous and awkward, if he didn’t notice the tears forming on the other’s eyes. Did Wade ever cry in front of him?

“Can I…” He wasn’t sure if he should ask for a hug. He knew that himself liked to be comforted with physical affection, he was touch-starved after all, but he didn’t know about Wade. Maybe he didn’t like his scars being touched.

Peter didn’t get to finish his question; arms being strongly wrapped around him. He noticed the mercenary trying not to cry, holding him tight as he attempted to hold back the tears. He smiled sadly.

“You can cry. It’s okay.”

He had never seen Deadpool like that before. He had cried when Peter called him his friend, but not that intensely. Tears immediately fell when he said that, which only broke his heart more. He unfroze, hugging the man back, comforting him like he had comforted Peter before.

Sniffles became sobs, and he didn’t mind his legs were starting to get weak from holding the man’s weight, because he knew he needed it. Peter was a cry baby, after all.

They stood like that for what felt like half an hour. At some point, Wade started to calm down until the tears ceased, but Peter didn’t release him. He felt safe and warm. He knew the anti-hero would enjoy just that feeling for a while— he’d have asked for him to let go if he didn’t.

Releasing Wade, Peter watched as the man cleared his tears and almost right after shot him a smile that almost reached his ears. It made him smile, too, and he softly asked if he’d prefer to stay inside for a few hours and go out for patrol later, or if he’d like to clear his head with a few criminals right away.

Wade chose to stay inside. He didn’t talk as he usually did, quiet as he went to the kitchen to prepare homemade popcorn. Peter didn’t mind, he grabbed a blanket from the bedroom and snuggled himself on the couch.

Watching Pool finish making the popcorn and come sit by his side, stealing a bit of his blanket, he knew he wouldn’t be able to eat it. It was way too caloric, bathed in oil and fat, and he was too mentally exhausted to eat anyway. He had eaten two pancakes the day before. He’d do just fine.

“Y’know,” Wade said, after a while of comforting silence, while they watched _The Golden Girls_ (at his request). “People look at you like you’re a little weird, but, y’know, I’ve always been a little weird, so it’s no big deal.”

Peter looked away from the screen and at the mercenary with a confused look. He assumed the man was talking about his scars, and that was completely okay, but—

“Did you just quote Bob Ross at me?”

Wade smiled smugly at him. Peter sighed. It was hard to try to speak about serious issues when the other never actually took anything serious— much less his own feelings. But it was alright, he knew when was time to joke and when not to. Most of the time, at least.

It was really nice. Sitting beside each other, watching an old show, covered in a warm, nice blanket, the smell of popcorn (was disgusting) and neither of them wearing a mask. The thought put a smile on Peter’s face, it had been so long since he had had anything like that. He only then realized how much he missed it.

Peter even made his homework like that. Wade didn’t seem to mind, so he used the time to study, too. He spent the usual time doing his school work, putting it aside without leaving under the blanket, and laid his head on the couch as he watched the show.

He was almost falling asleep, eyes feeling heavy and not being able to put together the words coming from the TV, when Wade poked his shoulder. It woke him up immediately, and he looked at the merc with a half annoyed, half sleepy look.

“Let’s go kick some bad guys’ asses!” he said excitedly. He didn’t seem to notice Peter’s sleepy state, so the hero let it go.

They put their suits on, leaving by the window on the back. It felt nice, the wind against his face, not having to worry about _him_ —

“Spideey, let’s get some ice cream!”

They hadn’t even looked for signals of crime happening, but they were out earlier than usual, so he guessed it was okay. He could get those ice creams that had less fat. Or make up some excuse about being sick.

He followed the merc to the place, but he knew something was wrong. The closer they got, more his spider-sense bothered him. One block away from the store they had went to the last time, he put his hand in front of Wade and a finger in front of his mouth.

They listened. The hero could hear an angry voice and soft crying. They couldn’t waste more time. Signaling for DP to go ahead, he watched as the man grabbed his katanas and entered the shop holding them up. He sighed, it wasn’t what he had in mind, but it worked, too.

He quietly crawled under the van outside, trying his best not to make any sound as he punctured the tires with sharp webs— he had never used it before, but there was a first time for everything.

He could hear the criminal inside, there was only one, the other inside the van, threatening to shoot the cashier if Pool didn’t go away. It was bad. Peter sighed again, that was why he never let him go first.

He crawled inside on the ceiling, hoping no one would alert the criminal of his presence, and in a blink of an eye, webbed away the gun from his hand. Immediately after, DP used the handle of his katana to black the guy out, holding the cashier as the other fell.

Peter webbed the guy’s hands and legs as Wade sprinted outside just in time to grab the driver, who was trying to get away running. They put both men sitting in front of the van, Peter webbing them so they wouldn’t escape.

There were a lot of people watching and taking pictures, and from what he gathered of whispers, they were on a spree robbery. Assuming someone had already called the police, he and Pool start to walk away, high fiving.

“Hey! I’ll give you free ice cream!” The owner screamed.

That obviously got Wade’s attention. He went back jumping like a little girl, getting giggles out of Peter as he asked for a giant sundae. At least it wasn’t red velvet.

He turned to face the hero. “What ‘bout you, baby cakes, what’d you want?”

Peter couldn’t be less impressed at the nickname. He was about to object, saying he was sick, but the mercenary didn’t even give him a chance.

“A milkshake! Of course, baby doll, I couldn’t agree more,” Wade said as he ordered one.

Peter’s breath hitched. It was obvious the man was starting to catch up with his terrible eating habits, but that was totally not the right way to help. A chocolate milkshake had around 400 calories, and he knew that that specific shop was not merciful when making their ice cream caloric, which meant—

“C’mon, Webs,” Wade called, holding his own and Peter’s order. “Cops will probably be here in a bit.”

He nodded and accepted the container that Pool shoved on his hands. He wouldn’t be able to drink all of it, he feared he might puke, but he’d try to drink half of it at least. The shop’s owner had been nice enough to give them for free, he might as well be grateful.

They stop on a rooftop not so far from where they stopped the criminals, conventionally close enough to Gabby’s he could see the sign. It had been a while, he had to pay her a visit. He had told himself that before and not done anything, but he was starting to miss his plants.

“Hey, Spidey, wanna play a game?” Wade asked.

When Peter looked at him, he noticed the man’s sundae was gone. His stomach made a flip inside him, and when he looked at his drink, he felt sick. He couldn’t drink the rest of it.

He gulped. “What game?”

Wade lighted up, and with his mask on his nose, Peter could see his smile. He clapped his hands together, excitedly saying, “20 questions!”

The hero tilted his head. It was rather blunt, but nothing surprising coming from the merc. “The guessing game?”

Pool shook his head, and from the smirk on his face, Peter could tell whatever was coming from his mouth was nothing good.

“Nope, a getting-to-know-you game!”

“A what now?”

Peter wasn’t stupid. He wouldn’t be studying at MIT if he was. But he considered them friends, he thought they knew each other quite well. Especially after he told DP everything, but it counted.

“I’m going to ask you ten questions to get to know you, and you ask me ten questions back!”

It seemed like a fairly peaceful, family friendly game at first. Peter had heard about it before, thus he knew it could easily get personal, awkward and start a fight. (Especially if you’re playing with six people, they’re drunk, and the party’s host is Flash. Peter’s glad he chose to sit that one out.)

He felt rather nervous, but hoped DP wouldn’t actually be able to be worse at the game than his classmates. He nodded hesitantly, saying, “Sure.”

“Okay!” Deadpool said, and without a word, drank the rest of Peter’s milkshake that had been put aside by the hero. “I’ll start, what’s your favorite food?”

Peter felt an immense sigh come out of his mouth, not even registering how relieved he felt at Wade’s innocent question.

He smiled softly, memories filling his mind warmly. He missed Aunt May. “Cherry pie.” He contemplated for a second as Wade nodded, wondering what he should ask. “Do you have a weakness?”

The merc’s reply was immediate. “Kittens.” He seemed to stop to actually think about it after Peter started to laugh. “And anti-regenerative rays.”

Quieting from his laugh, Peter had to only hope they wouldn’t encounter someone on power of such weapon.

They went on with little questions for a while, like their favorite color, artist, animal, show, song, book. Wade always managing to make them funnier than they’re supposed to, until Peter had to ruin everything— as he always did— with a personal question.

“What’s your worst fear?”

Immediate silence was his response. It was when Peter noticed that it wasn’t a good question, but too late to take it back by then. He tried getting the mood to lighten up again, saying, “I’m sorry, that was a personal question, you don’t need to answer it. Let’s just—”

“It’s okay, light of my life,” Wade said. “I think my worst fear is immortality.”

Peter Parker had officially ruined the man’s whole day. He just had to go and make him question his entire life— and fear the only certainty he had. Deadpool couldn’t die. He couldn’t die and it terrified him. Good job, Parker.

“What ‘bout you, baby boy?” Wade’s voice was quieter than before, and Peter cursed himself internally once again.

He had to actually take a moment to think about it. Spider-Man had many fears, Peter Parker had many fears, but both had an equal fear: death. He didn’t quite mind or think of it often, because it was one of his last fears. He didn’t fear death itself, he was okay with dying, he feared the aftermath more.

They lived in a universe with endless possibilities, creatures and abilities. People came back from the dead, people died but stayed alive, but no one ever knew for sure what happened after a real death. And that scared Peter. But not so much, too.

He came to the conclusion that his worst fear was his mind.

It was the one thing responsible for his fears themselves, after all. Responsible for his feelings, his damn feelings. His worries, his sadness, his anxiety, his insecurities. But worst of all, responsible for his actions. Peter was scared of coming to the point of planning his own death.

“Myself,” he ended up answering, much quieter than he intended.

The mood was completely ruined by then. Peter wasn’t even trying anymore. He always managed to do that somehow, and things never magically became better after.

Wade hummed thoughtfully, apparently lost on his own thoughts. There was still a question left, each still had one to ask, but should they try? Even if they asked silly questions, what both had just said wouldn’t go away from their minds.

“I mean, you don’t have to answer it, but since we became more personal, what’s your sexuality?”

The anti-hero was visibly anxious, and it made Peter anxious. It was apparently a thing. But the hero didn’t mind talking about his own sexual orientation, he just didn’t bring it up unless someone else did. And no one ever did.

He attempted a smile. “Bisexual.” His mind wondered if the news on the next day would be about him admitting that. “You?”

“I’m a pan, baby boy! Pans make the best pancakes. Yummy.”

Peter laughed, rolling his eyes despite it. The sentence barely made sense, but he understood it. Somehow, he noticed, too, the mood was better. He could just try to forget how awkward he had made things before. It was okay.

He got up, stretching his limbs as he took a breath. It was far from time to go back, but the city was calm after the spree robbery.

“Hey, Wade, I usually go to a flower shop near here every week. I haven’t gone in a while. Wanna pay them a visit with me?”

The mercenary immediately got up, excitedly walking to his side. “Of course! Don’t you have to change first, though?”

Peter looked at himself, remembering not everyone knew who he was. He nodded dumbly, ignoring Wade’s laugh as he sighed. He had left a few changes at the merc’s house, thankfully, so he wouldn’t need to go to his apartment. He should pay his babies a visit later, however, he didn’t think they’d go long without being watered.

On their trip to Wade’s house, the mercenary rambled about how he had wanted to blow the criminals’ heads earlier, but there were too many cameras, and it’d be bad for Spider-Man’s image. He promised to blow a guy’s face on the next day, though.

Peter changed, and expecting Pool to change, too, he grimaced at the view of the merc in civilian clothes, but wearing the mask.

“It’s not my fault I look like Trump had a baby with a rotten avocado, baby,” Wade said, putting his hands in his pockets.

Peter sighed, looking at him. “Wade, Gabby is the nicest woman I’ve ever met after Aunt May. They’re so alike it hurts.”

He wouldn’t force the other to go out without his mask, no, that’d be ridiculous, but in order to do something out of one’s comfort zone, they need an encouragement. Peter knew that, despite being terrified of stepping out of his own personal bubble.

He watched silently and curiously as the other removed his mask, shoving it in his pockets quite aggressively. “The things I do for you, Petey,” he muttered and walked out.

Peter led them to the place with a wide smile on his face. He ignored Wade’s raised (nonexistent) eyebrow and continued to walk happily to Auntie’s Safe Place. He was glad to see the “Open” sign and entered the shop with the usual, “Hey, Auntie!”

The mid-aged woman came out of the back door with a smile, holding a small tree in hands. “Peter! It’s been a while, boy, it’s good to see you!”

The hero waited, looking at the plants he became familiar with, as Gabby managed the tree and removed the dirty gloves, coming to hug him.

“You’re forgetting about me, young man, next time I see you, you’ll already be married!”

Peter hugged her with a wide smile. They weren’t that close, but he guessed she sensed his sadness every time he came to see her, so she’d always treat him as family. The hero couldn’t be more thankful.

He laughed and let her go, pointing at Wade with a hand. “Auntie, this is Wade, and Wade, this is Auntie.”

DP was incredibly nervous at first, but after the woman shot him an even wider smile, his shoulders fell in relief.

She came closer to him, analyzing him up and down, until she grabbed both his arms softly. She was looking up at his face with a weird look, but said, “Pete! You chose the right one. I expect to be invited to the marriage, boys.”

Peter sputtered. Wade, of course, he laughed loudly, patting the woman on the head. Before the hero could even deny their relationship, the merc nodded.

“You better expect to be on the first line.”

Peter’s face apparently managed to get even redder. “Wade Wilson!” he whisper-shouted.

The boy from the first time he came in, Sam, walked him away from babysitting the anti-hero, showing him what they had for him that week. They settled with a white, beautiful pot of small flowers after a few minutes.

When Peter finally looked at Wade again, he seemed to have become great friends with Gabby. She was listening closely and laughing and whatever the man was saying, who seemed to be happy, too. Peter felt proud.

After paying, he went to say goodbye to Auntie, she patted his shoulder, saying, “You’re gonna be fine, sweetie, Wade here seems like a good lad. You have my blessing.”

He didn’t even know how to react, especially because Sam seemed to be teaming up with Wade, both smiling widely. He shook his head, said goodbye to both workers and left with Pool. It didn’t seem like Gabby had ever once mentioned the scars, judging by the look on his face. Peter smiled.

“Can we go to yours?” Peter asked after they had started to walk.

He knew he should go to his apartment, water his plants and introduce them to the new one. Maybe grab another pack of clothes, insist to Wade that he’d sleep on the sofa, and sleep over again.

But he could also say they’d go to his later, leave his plant at Wade’s and have an excuse to come over when he wanted. It seemed like a good plan.

“Why don’t we go to yours?” Wade looked like he had wanted to ask that for a long time.

Peter looked down. He didn’t want to verbally explain, if he was to be honest. The apartment was (boring) beautiful, it smelled (like cleaning products and paint) good, and it had a (lonely) friendly vibe.

“My apartment is so empty and lonely. You wouldn’t like it there,” he word vomited again.

Stupid mouth, stupid brain, did he not have a filter between his mind and tongue? He didn’t need to ruin the mood once again, no one needed to know he didn’t like the apartment Mr. Stark had so wholeheartedly managed to get him.

It must have been hard, too, being so close to MIT, on a busy street, and it certainly looked expensive. He didn’t have loud, obnoxious neighbors, no constructions near to make him upset, no babies, it was supposed to be perfect.

“—sense.”

Peter wasn’t paying attention. He only stopped to listen when he noticed the man had accidently brushed his arm against his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, what?” He felt stupid asking him to repeat.

Wade smiled softly. “It makes sense. You’ve never called it home.”

Peter decided to take the merc to his apartment just then. He turned his body to the opposite side they were walking— to Wade’s house— and started to walk towards his. It was important, after all, what if Peter was dying inside his place and no one knew where he lived?

“Come on,” he called. “I’m taking you there.”

Pool didn’t question it, and they walked in silence until they reached his door. It was quite a long walk, but the sun was down and there were only a few people outside. It comforted him, somewhat. He nervously unlocked the door and opened it for the man to enter, smiling awkwardly.

“Welcome to mi casa,” he said.

Wade took his time to look around, and Peter didn’t mind. He put the new plant beside the ones he already had, carefully watered them all, not caring about Wade’s eyes on him, and threw himself on the bed.

It was comfortable, yes, very soft and warm, but every time he laid on it, he remembered why he was there. It was one of the reasons why he had so many stuffed— oh no.

He looked at his door hesitantly, only to see Wade holding back tears of laughter, bending over his own stomach and holding his mouth. Peter forgot he’d end up seeing them.

He glared. “Not a word.”

The man only wheezed. Peter sighed and hid himself under his blankets, hugging the one Spider-Man plushie he had. He only hoped Deadpool wouldn’t find any more embarrassing things, because he had already reached the limit of embarrassment that day.

“Is that—” Oh no. “Is that a dress?”

Peter didn’t feel as embarrassed as he thought he’d feel. It should be weird for the most part of the older generation that he had a dress on his closet. He lived by himself. But it didn’t feel weird at all, at least not for him. It held a lot of emotional value, he guessed, but he also didn’t mind wearing it. He liked it. But that was something he’d think about in another moment.

“Yeah… It was Aunt May’s.” His voice sounded much weaker than he intended.

Peeking from under the blanket, he saw Wade holding the dress up, analyzing it. It looked smaller in front of the merc, and it only made sense, the man being bigger than him and May. He felt a spike of pain thinking about her like that. The dress didn’t even smell like her anymore.

“Hm…” he murmured, turning it to see the other side. “You ever wore it?”

Peter smiled sadly. He had told Aunt May he’d wear it for his first day at MIT, but he didn’t. He was way too anxious about it, so he ended up only wearing it when he was by himself.

He got out of his blanket fort, sitting on his bed. “Only at home.”

Wade threw the dress at him without saying anything else. He was smirking, and Peter caught the cloth hesitantly, already knowing what was going through the other’s mind.

“No,” he said, folding and unconsciously smelling the dress.

Wade deflated. “Aw, Petey, why not?”

“Because I said so!” Peter smiled. “It’s embarrassing.”

He had never worn feminine clothes in front of anyone before. It was a scary thought overall, gender roles always making everything harder than they should be. He looked at the merc, who had gotten closer to him, and raised an eyebrow.

Wade groaned, crossing his arms and grabbing the dress from Peter’s hand, putting it back where he found it. “Alright, but I’m not gonna let this go, babe. You’ll fucking wear it, I swear. You just won’t look as fabulous as me in a tutu.”

Peter laughed, ignoring the fact that he would probably end up wearing the dress in front of Pool in the end. He grabbed a few things, and they walked out of the apartment chatting about the roles society inflicted on everyone and how stupid it was.

On their walk home, he noticed the subtle sound of birds singing, people laughing and talking; the smell of hot coffee being brewed, someone walking past him holding a brand new book; the kids from the opposite street playing with a dog.

Peter smiled. Yeah, he would be okay after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: I watched all of the Star Wars movies just so I could sneak in some references and quotes. And because of The Mandalorian.  
> I initially decided to watch it because of The Child (duh), but I got really into it, so I thought, "Why not just watch the whole thing already?" So I did.  
> I actually didn't get why the prequels were so hated on before I googled it. Reading about it made me realize that I do agree! (The new movies also suck, let’s agree on that.)  
> The story that Deadpool once killed a man for saying that the prequels are better than the original series is comic canon, by the way. I find it to be a really funny panel. "Say Jar Jar Blinks is an abomination, say it!"
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai
> 
> P.S.: From the next chapter on, each chapter will only contain 2k+ words. I apologize for the shortening!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) As I've said before, I was quite unmotivated to continue writing this novel. However! Your comments made me so happy and excited! You guys may think I don't, but I do notice who's always commenting and coming back for new chapters! Thank you so much for your love!
> 
> Trigger Warnings: physical fights, shots, corpses and death (temporary).
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with these themes, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

“We ride together,” DP said, loading his gun and taking a step forward.

Peter could barely believe it, it had been already a month since Wade showed him his face, the hero took him to meet Gabby and his apartment— time went by way too fast.

They had gotten even closer that month, if possible. Their fighting methods improved, plans and missions almost always succeeding, even if sometimes Pool went over the board with violence. Team Red was at its best.

He grinned, asking Karen to prepare his taser webs. “We die together.”

Peter had finally started to call the merc his best friend (Wade almost had a stroke that day), he was definitely spending way more time at the other’s house than he should (even if Wade had gotten a sofa bed, and they took turns) and he was doing great at MIT. Things couldn’t be better.

Of course, there were still a few issues. Mr. Stark hadn’t even tried to contact him, ignoring all of the texts Peter had sent him. He knew he was waiting an apology, but that wouldn’t happen. Ned was awfully quiet, too, he had even sent Peter a meme the other day, but that was it. MJ started to text him a few days prior though, and that put the widest smile on his face.

“Bad besties for life!” Wade shouted, louder than necessary.

They were about to enter pretty much a battle field— There were two organizations fighting on a warehouse. Both of those had been selling information to any party about both S.H.I.E.L.D. and the apparently raising Hydra. They would have fought each other at some point, Peter guessed, but he didn’t expect it to be so soon.

They never dealt with those kind of criminals. They had nothing to do with them, they didn’t have sides, they left it for the guys who cared to do something about it. That’s why they were unprepared for the battle.

Deadpool was fighting a lot of guys, Peter couldn’t even count, multiple shots being aimed at him didn’t give him time to do such. He was trying his best to knock the guns out of everyone’s hand, but there were too many.

"How about another joke, Murray?" he heard Wade say, a shot following.

He did not smile. He definitely did not smile at someone’s death. Peter Parker did _not_ smile.

When he finally had the chance to take a glance at his partner, he grimaced at the rising corpse pile. He sent Wade a thumbs up, the merc shouting something back at him, but he couldn’t understand with all of the shooting going on.

He heard a groan and looked at Wade, only to see one of his fingers missing. He grimaced.

"Well, alright then, round two: this time it's personal!" The anti-hero called, ignoring his lost finger being stepped on and rushing towards the person who cut it.

Peter grinned, that was one of the reasons why he liked Wade. He was just like Spider-Man in battle, his mouth never shut. "Must you?"

"Must I," he answered seriously.

Peter chuckled drily as they focused on minimizing the amount of people shooting, and he even noticed some of them dropping their guns when facing DP. Peter definitely had a few bullet grazes and injuries from fighting five dudes at the same time.

"Now, who hurt you?!" Deadpool asked, daring to even sound hurt, but that time the hero didn’t need to turn, they were back to back.

The merc had, again, just lost a finger. Peter was starting to think he was doing it on purpose.

The guy exasperatedly sighed. "Are you seriously asking me that after trying to shoot me five times?"

Peter raised an eyebrow without looking, he had been the first to open his mouth since they arrived. They were all probably protecting information, afraid of slipping something the red duo shouldn’t know.

Wade laughed. "You counted? That's so cute!"

The hero acted like he had not just heard that and continued to fight. When bullets finally stopped appearing, there were only about ten people left, and the hero made the mistake of sighing of relief.

That moment of relaxation, someone took his left arm and turned it around with brutal force. He let out a screech of pain, kicking whoever had just broken his fucking arm far away. His spider-sense had warned him, but he was getting tired.

“Spidey!” he heard Wade yell.

Turning around in precaution, Peter didn’t see anyone close to him, but when he looked back at the anti-hero, his heart stopped.

He saw up and close, in slow motion, Pool walking to him like nothing in the world mattered, just to get shot in the head three times.

Peter saw red.

He didn’t even register his own actions, screaming so loudly everyone seemed to have stopped for a moment, and raising the voltage of his taser webs. He didn’t think as he beat up the woman who shot Wade and webbed her to the ground.

He didn’t even blink as he sent two other people to the ground within a few seconds. He didn’t notice the tears forming and falling from his eyes, wetting the mask from inside out. He didn’t care as he hit a guy’s head on the wall so strongly he passed out immediately.

Peter was upright furious. He didn’t care.

He was about to fucking ruin the person who was coming at him, clearly nervous but determinate, already raising his fists—

“Spider-Man!” Deadpool.

Peter looked at where the merc had fallen to his death, only to find a pool of blood and the holes on Wade’s head healing. He sighed once again, but that time not allowing himself to be hurt by the person charging at him.

“ _I’m bleeding out_.”

Almost throwing his hands up, the hero tried to maintain his composure and ignore the pain his whole body felt. It was bearable, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Deadpool, please,” he almost cried loudly. It was not the time.

“ _I’m bleeding out for you, for you,”_ Wade sang.

From the corner of his eye, Peter could see him slowly gaining back his energy. He had to focus on who he was fighting, though. He webbed them in a second, looking around for any other enemies, but he didn’t even notice his spider-sense. He only noticed the excruciating pain on his shoulder after hearing a loud ringing.

He felt dizzy. Before his brain could even register Wade’s shout, he fell unconscious.

Wade sprinted towards the young hero, catching him just a centimeter from hitting his head on the ground. He set him on the floor carefully and hissed at whoever was left. He was going to fucking _end_ them.

While cutting away a dipshit’s head, Deadpool tried not to think about how bad Peter was bleeding. He stood close to the boy, always glancing at him, but it was rather hard when he had to shoot at a fuckward’s face four times.

He finished killing every fucking bitch on that place and ran to get Pete. His arm was not supposed to be turned that way, definitely not, and he had to pray to all of the gods and Death herself for the hero not to bleed out. He was unconscious, for fuck’s sake.

Running to his house, he noticed the boy he was carrying stiff on his arms. He sighed of relief as he watched Peter open and close his eyes a few times, finally understanding what was happening a moment later.

“You’re such a little shit, Parker,” he told him. “My definite death will happen because of you.”

He couldn’t help a grin while saying that, glad for the mask covering his face, and watched in amusement as Peter laughed dryly, coughing a bit. It made him grimace, they had to get there faster.

“You,” he coughed again. “Died.”

Wade almost stopped. Did the little angel not know about his immortality? What? Had he injured himself because he was worried about him? Peter was going to be the death of him, for sure.

“Fuck you,” the hero muttered.

Pool gasped. He had to keep Petey awake, do everything you have to, just keep him fucking awake.

“You can’t say that, Petey! It’s a bad word!”

They were almost there. Just a few seconds. Keep his eyes open, Pete cannot close his fucking beautiful, gracious, chocolate eyes. If he closes them, there’s a big chance Deadpool fucked up big time. Stay awake.

He sighed exaggeratedly as he finally entered through his door. He quickly put Peter on his bed and went to grab his shit. In less than a second he was back, pressuring his bullet wound and stopping the fucking bleeding.

Wade couldn’t even think as he proceeded to take care of the hero’s injuries. He had at least stopped him from dying at the moment, but he was in bad shape. He didn’t even know what the hell he was telling Peter to make him laugh, he just needed to stay awake until he finished and made sure everything was good.

It might have been ten minutes, it might have been two hours, neither of them would never know. Peter could only focus on Wade’s voice as he felt his wounds being picked on— it freaking hurt. And the merc could not even focus. He was freaking out.

"Anything broken?" Peter asked, when the merc was calming down and he seemed to be finishing patching him up.

Wade couldn’t even tell about who he was asking, knowing the selfless little shit, he was asking about him. One of those days, Petey would end up killing himself just to do something for someone else, and Deadpool would throw a fucking tantrum.

"Just my faith in humanity," he mumbled, cleaning the last scratch he could see after removing the man from the suit.

Peter smiled and sighed, he was about to pass out for some good months. Not that it had been hard to sleep, after all Wade’s house was magic, every time he closed his eyes, he slept. Eating was okay. He was starting to get better, but he didn’t really want to.

Mr. Stark had not sent him money that month, either. Peter knew he was trying to get his way so the young hero would come beg him for forgiveness or money, but he should’ve known better. He was at least glad he didn’t stop paying his tuition, for that he was forever thankful.

“Oh no, don’t you dare.” Wade’s voice startled him awake. “You’ll hear me first, you selfless fuck.”

Peter smiled, he was going to try his best not to fall asleep mid-rambling, but he couldn’t really promise anything. He nodded so the man would go on.

“How can you be so careless! You fucking knew I’d come back, everyone knows it! I’m not called the regenerating degenerate for nothing, Petey-pie.”

The young hero smiled, saying softly, “I know.”

“Then why the fuck—!” he yelled, but toned his voice down after seeing Peter’s flinch. “You could have fucking died! You know I can come back; you know dam well I’m goddamn immortal. But not you, Peter, you only get to die once! You shouldn’t even fucking expose yourself to such violence just because of me. So why—!”

Peter thought he wouldn’t be able to answer that. He probably wouldn’t be able to, a month ago. He would never admit it, but he had always wanted to be a hero. Seeing Iron Man, Captain America and so many others on the news as a kid had an impact on him.

He was selfless, careless about himself when it came down to people’s safety and as some people said to him a few times, “Too good for your own.” He always thought those were common traits between heroes and those who worked to save or take care of others. It was their job, after all.

The warmed feeling after seeing a kid reunited with their family, meeting someone he saved months or years later, well and happy; the simple feeling of making sure other people are safe. It was so rewarding for him.

It didn’t matter if it put his own person in a situation of danger, if it hurt him, if it would cost him a limb, he just wanted to see everyone well. Spider-Man saved everyone he could.

It wasn’t any different when he saw Wade dying for the first time. At the first second, he forgot about his power. He had seen him regenerate from a few wounds before, but never die. It was shocking and it hurt way more than he thought it would.

So he didn’t even see his own feet moving, didn’t realize he was acting without even thinking; all he could think about was Wade’s safety. It didn’t matter what was on the way.

“Being immortal doesn’t make you immune to pain, Wade,” he says, interrupting the other’s rant. “I couldn’t just let you get hurt like that. You promised me you’d never leave my side and I can’t— I’ll never leave yours.”

It had happened just a few days prior. They were playing games on Wade’s house, chilling after a late night of patrol, Peter was even eating a few toasts. He was (obviously) winning, the merc was whining, and they decided to go to bed.

Before Wade closed his bedroom’s door, he had stopped and looked at him in the eyes. “Hey, Petey?”

The hero got up from his lying position on the sofa, comfortable between his blanket and a few stuffed toys he got from his apartment, and shot the anti-hero a soft smile, nodding so he’d say what was on his mind.

“Just wanted you to know that, if I have a say, I’ll never leave your side.”

It was abrupt. Peter even feared he was in some kind of danger, but bluntness was simply Wade’s thing, so he smiled even wider and closed his eyes.

He had never slept so damn well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: I always listen to music while writing. It really helps me get into the mood and visualize what I want to write better.  
> My playlist for writing Wade consists of The Guardians of the Galaxy's soundtrack, Queen, Spice Girls and 00's pop hits. Peter's mostly consists of sad, slow lo-fi at the beginning, then becomes something somewhat cheerier. When I write action, I like listening to Oliver Tree, and when they’re together and smiling, I listen to happy lo-fi :).
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) 
> 
> Trigger Warning: mention of eating disorder not otherwise specified.
> 
> If you're uncomfortable with this theme, I would recommend not reading!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Peter woke up with a start. It had been a while since he had a nightmare, especially one that was related to Aunt May, so he took his time to calm down. He would be fine, he had had worse, after all.

Looking around, he wasn’t surprised to find himself at Wade’s, but he winced as he got up. Right. He had been shot the day before. Wade had patched him up, tried to lecture him, he said emotional things and fell asleep right after. He didn’t even remember if the merc had said anything after that.

He raised his shirt to look at the wound, not surprised by the careful way everything was done. It wasn’t the worst thing he’d had, but it certainly looked bad. Quietly heading to the bathroom, he found the first aid kit under the sink and changed the bloody bandages.

It took him a while, but when Peter finished patching himself up with a sigh of both relief and tiredness, he walked to the living room, only to see Wade asleep on the sofa bed. He smiled and looked around.

To say the place was a mess was an understanding.

He decides to clean the rooms and put everything in place as a “thank you” to Wade. He didn’t even want to think about the last time, if there was even a time, the place had been cleaned. He smiled and started at the bedroom, the farthest room, so he wouldn’t wake the anti-hero.

He cleaned guns, knives, swords, hammers, multiple different weapons and organized them. He switched sheets and blankets, putting the ones in use to wash, and gathered the clothes scattered around. Peter even considered vacuuming, but he decided to do that after Wade woke up.

Moving to the bathroom, he washed the place as quiet as he could be. There were a lot of small blood stains, mainly close to the tub and the sink, but he got rid of those. Finishing cleaning the (stained with blood, too) ceiling, he huffed; he didn’t even want to know how that happened.

He had the kitchen and living room left. Both were connected, so Peter feared he might wake the mercenary. He didn’t have many options, though. He cleaned the living room as slowly and silent as he could, only leaving the sofa behind.

Relieved as he thought he wouldn’t wake Wade, he moved to the kitchen.

He washed the dishes with a smile on his face. Everything was much cleaner than before, not uncharacterized, of course, it still looked like a place Wade owned; but it definitely made him feel cleaner. He didn’t even notice he was humming until he was interrupted.

“Light of my soul! Of my life! My little piece of happiness!” Wade cried.

He almost crashed the cup he was holding, jumping with a squeak. He hated his spider-sense for not even blinking at the merc’s presence. He smiled at the other man and finished washing the last cup.

Wade was looking around, even went to check the other rooms, and came back faking tears. He held Peter, who hadn’t even dried his hands, and dramatically let himself be supported by the other’s body, thanking him for cleaning everything and saying he didn’t need to.

“Wade, we’re going to fall!” Peter complained. “I’m going to get you wet, too!”

He regretted saying that just as the words left his mouth. Sighing before the response even came, he was able to snatch a cloth to dry his hands. The bad pickup lines were only getting worse with time, the time the merc said, “If you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cumber!” Peter groaned so loud he accidently woke up the owner of the apartment below the roof they were in.

Wade smirked. “You already get me wet every time you smile, sweetheart.”

Peter didn’t even know what to say. How to react. He just stood there, looking at the other’s eyes with the most tired, indifferent look in his eyes he could manage. He was so done.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s tru—” Wade abruptly stopped.

Peter looked at him in worry. It wasn’t like him to stop like that, unless he thought of an even worse line; but priorities. “Are you okay?”

To his surprise, Pool huffed. He let the young hero go and threw his hands up, walking in circles. He looked about to make a scene, which got Peter intrigued.

“You should be resting!” Oh. Oh, that’s right. He had forgotten about that. “Do you even remember what happened last night?”

He nodded slowly, if “last night” was until he said that embarrassing thing, he did remember, even if he didn’t want to. He just hoped nothing important happened after that, because it was all black.

Wade sighed. “Okay, y’know what? Why don’t we go out? I gotta feed you.”

“You don’t need to feed me,” Peter said, trying not so hard to hide his chuckle.

It technically could be considered feeding if he thought about it. He felt really bad sometimes, because DP payed for everything and always cooked for both of them, so he was always buying him games and small gifts he enjoyed.

Who would have guessed Deadpool collected old comic books? He would make a whole scene every time Peter showed up with a new, rare version of an old (quite strange, in the hero’s opinion) comic.

His voice went unheard. He was dragged out of the house while Wade rambled about a new place he found out about.

"I had such a breakfast yesterday! Well, not breakfast, because I got up at one in the afternoon and ate at like, two or something. Anyway! I decided to try this new _churrascaria_ they opened on my street, and boy isn't it wonderful! I’m totally taking you there sometime— just not today, today’s gon’ be different. What ‘bout you, what'd you have to eat, baby boy?"

Peter smiled. He hardly considered lying. It was almost starting to get awkward with the silence, but he ended up telling the truth. There was no reason to lie to him.

"Oh, I couldn't afford anything in campus," he said through his smiling teeth.

He didn’t want, didn’t like, to admit it, but he was almost starting to be glad for Mr. Stark’s stubbornness. He had started to eat a lot with Wade, but after the fight happened, he stopped eating so much. It was balancing to him, not eating when alone, eating with Wade. It was okay. He was at least better than before.

Wade stopped with a frown. (It was so refreshing and good to see him outside without the mask.) "I thought Mr. Richie paid for ya shit? What do you mean you couldn't afford it?"

Peter fidgeted, he didn’t think the man would actually get defensive about it. He was eating just fine, there was nothing wrong with his eating habits. Nothing at all.

"Mr. Stark may or not may have forgotten to send me money this month,” he said awkwardly, looking away; it wasn’t a _lie_ , he was just sure it wasn’t the truth, too. He quickly recovered, though. “He's still paying my tuition, though, so it’s fine."

No one said anything for a few moments. Peter didn’t know what else to say, he didn’t think he had anything to say at all. He just hoped Wade wouldn’t get to angry at Mr. Stark. Peter was used to him, anyway, it wasn’t like he was going to change from night to day.

"Have you been eating at all, Spidey? That is so not fine!"

The man looked and sounded serious. They were walking slower and Wade was looking at him in the eye. He silently shivered. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about eating, much less about how much he practiced it.

Peter huffed. "I do eat, thank you very much." Just when the merc asked him to.

"Oh yeah?” Wade asked, clearly not believing him. Peter was in a danger zone. “What was the last time— that I wasn’t with you! — you had a decent meal, then?"

He opened his mouth, just to close it with a click a second later. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want to lie, but he hadn’t had a full meal (not involved with Wade) in a few weeks. Or months. He didn’t think of counting it, give him a break.

"Holy fuck!” They had already stopped walking by then. The anti-hero had his hands thrown up and was facing him seriously. “That's a no-no; I'm getting you some fucking food."

Peter looked at him with a frown. He wasn’t hungry at all. "Wade, I'm fi—"

"Don't even finish that sentence!” he shushed him. Wade grabbed his arm gently and started to walk faster than before they stopped. “We're getting tacos, and it’s on me. Don’t even try."

Peter dared open his mouth, but the glare he was directed shut him up. Really, he didn’t want tacos, especially because Wade would get those oily, super caloric ones. And he would have to eat more than one, because of course the mercenary knew about his metabolism.

He sighed desperately, but helpless, he followed, or was dragged, to a Mexican food restaurant nearby. Wade seemed to be familiar with the place, but didn’t start his usual friendly talks, probably because he wasn’t wearing a mask. He still avoided people’s faces and eyes, but Peter was proud of him.

They ordered, and the young hero didn’t struggle as much as he thought he would with the food. He had been getting better, after all, but he never thought he’d ever be able to eat two tacos just like that.

"Thank you,” he said softly after he finished. Peter didn’t know if he wanted Wade to understand what exactly he was being thanked for, but he didn’t care much either. “I'll pay you back as soon as possible."

Wade knew he wasn’t talking about money. He should be used to getting gifts already. He still said, "Nah, you ain't."

Peter smiled. They both knew he was getting the other man something, but he guessed that if Wade wanted to act like he wasn’t, he wouldn’t question it.

They headed out back to Wade’s apartment, he should be resting after all, while the merc rambled about the “worst fucking Mexican place in this city”. Apparently, he had been killed there for entering in costume. Peter didn’t know if he should say it wasn’t normal at all for a restaurant to have guns like those he described.

Wade talked excitedly, hands moving around and gesturing the whole time, his eyes glowing like every time he rambled about something, words being spoken faster as he dramatized the story. He was a good storyteller, Peter noticed, even if he spoke sometimes way too fast to understand.

“I could be your Glucose Father!” he suddenly said. He hadn’t even finished the story.

Peter frowned. He had absolute no idea what the man meant, and he usually (strangely) did. “My what?”

They entered Wade’s house and Peter sat down, feeling the exhaustion hit him at once. He sighed and lied down on the floor, the soft rug hugging him nicely.

Wade sat on the sofa behind him, crossing his legs and grabbing the TV controller. “You know, Dextrose Papa?” Peter’s frown hardened. “Saccharine Pops?” Peter’s eyebrows could reach his hairline, what in the world was Wade on about? “No?” No response. “Your Sugar Daddy, Webs!”

Peter immediately choked on his own saliva. His stomach seemed to be competing Gymnastics Olympics inside of him. He looked at Wade completely indignant. He was at loss of words, opening and closing his mouth a couple times, not knowing what to do. The merc stared.

“What? No!” His voice was way more high-pitched than usual, but that didn’t need to be addressed.

Wade pouted. “Why not?” Peter looked at him dead in the eye, he couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. “Holy shit, is Iron Dick already—”

“No!” he immediately shouted. It was getting so embarrassing. He was already red, but his ears seemed to only get hotter. He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god. He’s like my mentor or something.”

He didn’t know exactly what Mr. Stark was anymore. It was rather concerning and deconstructing. He had called himself Peter’s mentor once, but the young hero couldn’t recall one single useful lesson he had learned directly from him. He wasn’t going to think too hard on it at the moment, though.

Wade grinned. “Well, then, I see no problem here. I feed you food and presents, and you give me cuddles and love!”

Peter sat up, holding himself not to get one of the guns that were just a few meters away from him and blow the anti-hero’s guts away. His stomach was not collaborating with him for some reason, weird sensations flowing through his body. Recompose yourself, Parker, it’s fine, Parker.

“Wilson,” he hissed. “You are _not_ going to be my Sugar Daddy.”

DP seemed a bit taken aback by his tone, which pleased and relaxed the young hero a bit, too. But, unfortunately for Peter, he soon went back to usual him.

“But, Petey!” he cried dramatically.

He glared. “No. You’re my best friend. It’d be so weird!” He sighed, he didn’t really have structured arguments. He was in shock, okay? “And to be honest, I didn’t even know your vocabulary had that extent.”

Wade snorted. “I am _offended_!” he said. Peter relaxed more, it seemed like “Embarrassing Peter Time” was finally over. “Wait, does that mean you’d accept if we weren’t friends first?”

He sputtered. Looked away at the multiple exit routes he could find, there was the door, the window, the backdoor, the bathroom’s and bedroom’s windows, the secret door inside the closet—

“I—” he choked. “You—” Danger, danger, he didn’t know what to say! “We’re not talking about this.”

Silence struck and Peter didn’t think he would ever be that red. Covering his face was the only way he could find of trying to ignore and forget everything that had just happened the last minutes. He would die. He could die. He was done for.

Then, Wade’s rough laugh echoed through the room. Peeking through his fingers, Peter saw the merc holding his stomach as he leaned forward, laughing so hard the hero couldn’t resist but to start laughing, too.

At the vision of the taller man like that, wide, open smile, almost crying of laughter, so happy; his laugh making its way into Peter’s ears, it was a really great thing to hear— his stomach felt weird again.

He frowned. Why was he thinking those things? It was unfamiliar to him, the feeling was strange, too, almost like butterflies—

Oh. Oh _shit_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: Currently, I have (put aside, of course) 13 ideas for new fanfics. Most of them are one-shots and from Marvel, but there's also Voltron and Boku no Hero Academia. I have also finished the autobiography book I was supposed to turn in in november for school. I am unstoppable. (Please save me, I can't stop coming up with new things to do, I need to stop, please.)
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) Thank you for almost 2k hits!
> 
> No trigger warnings for today's chapter! Short and straightforward.
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Peter panicked. He gave a lame excuse (not even acknowledging the words coming out of his mouth) and left. His wound hurt, and he didn’t even know if he had the proper equipment to take care of it at his place, but it didn’t matter at that moment. What else was he supposed to do? That had never happened before.

He ran to his apartment, remembering he didn’t grab his things halfway through. He wouldn’t go back to get them. Locking himself up in his apartment, Peter sighed as he slid down with his back against the door. Why did that have to happen to him?

Everything was going so great! He and Wade were closer than ever, he was happy, almost over Aunt May’s death already, he could even talk about it! Plus, Wade had been more than supportive when he had problems with the Westcott issue. Peter was so happy.

His goddamn feelings had to ruin everything. What was he to tell the mercenary? “Hey, I think I have feelings for you, sorry for ruining things between us and making everything awkward, now you’ll never be able to look at me the same.”

Maybe he had misunderstood things.

Peter grabbed his laptop and googled, “How do I know if I’m in love?” not caring about how much he sounded like a teenage girl with a crush. A crush! Maybe it was only a crush! Crushes were easy to get over, weren’t they?

He looked over many sites. Different pages. Searched again with different words. It didn’t change his results.

Peter Parker was falling in love with Deadpool.

He wanted to deny everything, act like it was nothing, like he didn’t feel that way, but the sooner he accepted the facts, the faster he could forget them, right?

He showed signs, and when he stopped to think and analyze his actions, maybe even Wade knew. He just hoped he wasn’t too obvious, because he would be so done if the anti-hero knew and that was why he kept using those dumb pickup lines on him.

Peter was happy almost all the time when he was with the merc. Like that time, he started to laugh uncontrollably after the fight with Corvus, or that other when they were discussing about Wade’s comics and he just had to say that stupid joke, making the hero laugh for so long he started to tear up.

He had to admit he felt a little nervous around Pool sometimes. He felt self-conscious when he wasn’t wearing his mask, got a little red when he felt how tight the spandex of his suit was, looking around to see if Wade was looking at him, and his heart beat a bit faster when they sat in silence at the merc’s house, watching a movie.

Spider-Man was loved by the city, he knew that, but he couldn’t turn a blind eye to the comments on the internet about how much brighter and more efficient he seemed with DP around. To say he wasn’t excited to patrol with him every time, even when they had done that so many times, would be a lie.

It was so easy to be around Wade, too. He always made the air feel lighter, the sky seem brighter and Peter didn’t even need to say anything. Sometimes they would just be by each other’s side in silence, enjoying nothing in particular. It didn’t matter what they did, it felt good.

When Wade had to leave for a few days because of jobs, Peter would feel lonely. He thought he should maybe seek a therapist, because if he depended so much on the merc, he needed help. That idea would be thrown out of the window when the merc came back with a gift.

It wasn’t that Peter was always thinking of him, he just couldn’t help it, they saw each other every day! They practically lived together, how could he ignore the man? Of course, there were a few times when he wanted to be alone, and they both understood and respected that, but they were together a lot.

Peter and Wade were both affectionate. Both touch-starved and needy. Could you blame them if they snuggled against each other when watching a show, or leaned towards the other’s touch sometimes?

The young hero liked to think they were both improving as their own person. He couldn’t say he wasn’t getting better at social interaction, or he didn’t know what to do after nightmares; Wade had helped him so much, after all.

The mercenary was also learning with him, he liked to think. He was getting better at staying silent at proper times, at not hurting his enemies too hard unnecessarily (of course he wouldn’t start to follow Spider-Man’s morals, he was an assassin, but he was improving).

Peter had started to notice a few things about Wade he hadn’t before, too. How his eyes would flicker around, like he was looking for escape routes or maybe just knowing his surroundings every time he took his mask off. How he would wink his left eye after every little miserable pun or something he said he considered smug. How he would look at Peter after doing something cool with a smile.

Peter was _fucked_.

He couldn’t deny it, couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t think about it— why was he blushing? —, but he still wanted to do something about it. He couldn’t ruin his friendship with his best friend, for god’s sake.

He could distance himself until his feelings went away. He could still go out as Spider-Man, so Wade doesn’t worry for him too much to go after him, but patrol on areas far from the ones they usually went to.

He could focus solemnly on college, focus on finishing projects, doing his homework, doing his notes, paying attention to class, maybe even go to parties. He just needed to forget.

Hoping Wade would take good care of the plants he had started to leave at the merc’s house, he closed his eyes, breathed in deeply, breathed out, and opened them determinately.

Peter Parker would fall out of love with Wade Wilson, even if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

“MJ?”

MJ never called. She started to text more often with time, saying she had stopped before because she was giving him space after his loss. They were friends again, and Peter was really glad for that. She still never called, which only made him feel more scared of what was to come.

He could hear her grin through the call. “’Sup, nerd?”

Peter smiled softly. It felt surprisingly great to hear her voice, a familiar voice. It had been a week since he ran away from Wade. Deadpool had watched him as Spider-Man a few times, probably making sure he was indeed the true Spider, but not once did he feel eyes on him as Peter Parker.

He sighed. It was exhausting, stressing, depressing, anything but fun, trying to forget about his stupid crush. But he needed to do it. Wade wouldn’t want to hang out with him if he knew he had such feelings.

One thing he learned the hard way, being away from the guy, was that it was frustratingly hard to come in terms with eating properly. He thought he was doing better, but his brain seemed to be mad at him and he simply couldn’t swallow more than a meal a day. Still, he felt proud to be able to eat even that.

“Is it about Deadpool?”

Peter stopped. Yes, he was used to MJ’s straightforwardness and ominous knowledge of basically his whole life. He was like an open book, so easy to read, according to her. He had pouted when she said that, not wanting to admit he knew it.

Then, he remembered the news everywhere about them teaming up. Of course she knew. He couldn’t have any other friends, could he? They had suddenly stopped patrolling together, too, and it was probably all over Twitter or something, along theories of why.

His breath hitched and he squeaked. He hated how exposed he felt when she did that.

MJ sighed on the other side. “I’ll take that as a yes.” She stopped for a second. “Come on, tell me what’s going on. Help me help you.”

He could hug her right at that moment. Laughing awkwardly and bitterly, he scratched his nape involuntarily. How was she going to tell her what he had done? He knew it wasn’t the best way to go, but it surely seemed easier (he was starting to doubt that by that point).

“So…” he started nervously with a chuckle. “I may have done something not so reasonable…”

Peter swore, he could _feel_ her raising an eyebrow at him. “What’d you do this time, Parker?”

He had developed a crush on Deadpool, the world’s most hated mercenary, The Merc With A Mouth, his best friend, the one who was always by his side since they met, the one who helped him through every problem he was having, knowingly or not. And he ran away.

He breathed. “Have you ever fallen in love?”

Those were strong words. It almost physically hurt him to admit that. He just couldn’t deny it, he had to get over it, so why was it so hard?

MJ was silent on the other side for a moment. “Is that what this is about?”

Surely she wouldn’t judge him, and would help him get over it. She wouldn’t be sweet and kind about it, especially after she got to know what he’d done, she was MJ. Peter wouldn’t recognize her if it wasn’t like that.

“I just can’t.”

Peter hadn’t cried in a long time. Well, if Wade’s death didn’t count, it had been really long since tears fell from his eyes. He shouldn’t be crying just because he had stupid romantic feelings for his best friend. But he couldn’t help the watering on his eyes.

MJ frowned, not anymore paying attention to the news. “So you ran?”

“I—” Peter tried, but stopped and paled.

He had run away. Just like last time. Just like all the times he faced a problem he didn’t understand, feared, or anticipated the thought that he couldn’t overcome it. He just kept on running away from things.

Peter Parker was a fucking coward.

He needed to stop doing that, he needed to have realized it sooner. He had told himself he’d stop acting like that, but yet there he was again. Running. Ha.

Releasing a bitter laugh, he noticed a single tear fall. He wasn’t going to cry on the phone with MJ. He refused to. Just like he would start refusing acting like he could just ignore his problems and go on with his life. He wasn’t a 16-year-old anymore, goddammit.

“Thank you, MJ,” he said, smiling sincerely. He guessed she’d never stop making him realize things and help him out. “I owe you one.”

The girl laughed. “You owe me dozens, Parker.” He joined in quietly, still thankful to have her. “But good luck, nerd. God knows you need it.”

Not even able to say goodbye, MJ ended the call. Typical.

Peter took a deep breath. He needed to start the week over. He breathed out slowly, bringing down his heart beat and cleaning his mind. Be positive, he told himself, think happy thoughts. He breathed in again, thinking of the sun rise on a hot beach. With a smile, he breathed out, washed his face with cold water and looked at his reflex on the mirror.

Resisting the urge to call himself a stupid teenager in love, he dressed casually (like a normal human being would) and headed out of his place trying to be as confident as he could.

Independent of what was about to happen, if Wade would laugh on his face, if Wade would gather his things and kick him out, if Wade would never look at him the same, if their friendship would become awkward, if Wade would never talk to him again, Peter didn’t care.

He will have told him how he felt, he’ll have it out of his conscience and no more worry about hiding it. If Wade takes it well, too, it will be a lot easier to get over it, won’t it? He’ll be fine. He’ll be doing the right thing. He’ll finally be able to live knowing that he at least tried.

He stopped at the mercenary’s door. Ignoring his heartbeat going crazy, he breathed in slowly, counting to five.

One, two, three, four, five. He breathed out. One, two, three, four, five.

Peter knocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: Every work’s name (There will be specials!), including this series’, is the title of a romantic song from the 50s. I don’t even know why I did that, but it’s a thing now. They all really apply to the fanfic’s content, too, and sometimes the whole lyrics will work with the story, it’s something I did actually think through :).
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) I'm a tad early today. We're getting closer to the end, huh?
> 
> No trigger warnings today!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Wade’s house was... chaotic. Not being greeted with an enthusiastic smile as usual, Peter decided to enter anyway. He was worried, and he did wait for a few minutes, but not even a sound was being made inside, despite the turned on TV.

It was double as dirty as it was when he cleaned it the first time. Bullets everywhere, dirty takeout boxes, cups, kitchenware, clothes, weapons. Peter thought everything the mercenary owned could be there, in front of him.

What most worried him, though, wasn’t even Wade, sitting on the floor, facing his TV, but looking up at the ceiling— that was normal. What worried him were the blood stains he saw on the carpet. A few small, a few big. He gulped.

Hesitantly, the young hero called for his best friend. He was not heard.

“Wade,” he tried a second time, if possible even softer.

In a blink, a pistol was pointed right between his eyes.

The person holding the gun, who he once considered to care for as he only did before with May, was unrecognizable. He looked awful. Big, ugly bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept. His scars looked red, like he had scratched them over and over. His eyes were swelled and red, like he had cried for a long time.

The gun was lowered, and Peter’s chest _hurt_.

It didn’t hurt like he was just almost killed by the person he was falling in love with. It didn’t hurt like he had just isolated himself for a week. It didn’t hurt like he finally overcame his habit of running away.

It hurt with the realization that he not only hurt himself, but also the person he cared for.

In the attempt of saving Wade from all of the problematic world of romantic feelings, of maybe sparing him of the burden he would cause, Peter did the exact opposite. Pool had been hurt, too.

Tears started to form and he didn’t try to stop them. He didn’t mean to do that to him.

Wade seemed to be finally hit by the fact that Peter was, in fact, there. He was about to apologize, it seemed, as he always would, with an awkward smile, but it faded mid-way through. It was when the hero’s tears hit the floor.

Peter felt even more terrible. He crouched down and cried hard, guilty for it. He was supposed to be apologizing, explaining, giving satisfactions, asking for forgiveness, comforting Wade. Instead, he was the one who cried for the consequences of his own actions.

He heard a, “Pete, please talk to me, what happened?” and everything got worse. He felt fucking terrible.

Wade was asking and caring for his well-being, worrying about him, putting Peter’s feelings over his own, like nothing had happened at all.

He knew he couldn’t count on his hands the amount of times he apologized, out loud, on his head or with his actions. He was crying like the end was near. He was an awful person, and he felt so, so guilty.

“I am so sorry,” he sobbed once more.

Wade helped him calm down. Made him listen to his lovely heartbeat once again. For a couple moments, Peter was in peace. Like nothing had ever gone wrong in his life. Like it had always been that serene.

He felt terrible for being human enough to realize his mistake, but not be able to change it at first. To be naïve enough to think that it was only about him. But he would fix it.

“You did nothing wrong, Petey,” Wade said softly. Peter hugged himself more. “Why are you apologizing?”

The young hero raised his head, ignoring how much he felt like crying more. Feelings sucked.

“Don’t act like what I did was okay.” Peter took another of the many deep breaths he took that day only. “I’m so done of being like this. Of running away. And you were so selfless to let me.”

Wade tilted his head to the side, clearly confused. Brows furrowed, he sat down in front of him, looking deep into his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout, baby cake.”

“I’m Spider-Man, Wade!” Peter cried out. “And yet, I keep running away from anything that shows itself to be barely problematic in my life. I don’t know how to deal with my emotions, I don’t know how relationships work, I don’t know anything.” He sighed, and his pride hurt a little to admit, “And instead of trying to learn, I keep turning around and walking away.”

It felt strangely freeing to admit that. MJ had called him out on it, but actually telling someone what he had done felt good. He had cried and talked about his problems— who would think he would ever do that?

Wade seemed to have understood what he was talking about. He looked like he wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure if he should, or as if he wasn’t sure if he actually understood. Peter smiled softly at finally being able to look at him without feeling ashamed.

“But what are you running from?”

Oh. Oh, was he actually ready to admit _that_? It was a scary thought; to tell someone you like how you actually feel about them. And Peter wasn’t even at the “like” stage anymore, he was falling in love.

That was embarrassing.

Peter acknowledged that it was human to pinpoint a flaw, but to forget to fix it. He knew he would have ended up committing the same mistake twice, maybe in a week, maybe in a decade. He knew it, so he also knew he should be able to change for once and all.

He would start by fixing what he had done, no matter the consequences. It was about time he opened up.

“I’m falling in love with you.”

Absolute silence. Peter was staring at Wade like his life depended on it, and it sure felt like it did.

Wade wasn’t saying anything, however. He wasn’t reacting. Wasn’t laughing, wasn’t crying, wasn’t angry, wasn’t confused, wasn’t anything. He looked like he couldn’t process what Peter had told him. It was kind of scary.

Peter thought he may be disgusted. He was good at hiding how he felt, and he might as well be planning how he would break it to Peter that they couldn’t see each other anymore. Well, DP wasn’t like that, he could never be, but at a moment like that, the hero could only expect the worse.

Before he could process it, he was in the air. Wade was laughing like a maniac, but in a good way. Peter had never seen him so happy.

It was then he realized it.

His waist was being held up by the merc’s strong hands, spinning in the air, his laugh was music, their foreheads pressed together, Peter could hear his blood _flow_ —

“You’re my little piece of happiness, smarty pants,” Wade said. The young hero’s heart was beating like crazy, a helpless smile on his face. “In between my fucking messed up life, all this bullshit I’m up to, and you’ve made your way to me. And I couldn’t be any happier with you.”

Peter felt the tears falling and oh, it had been a long time since they fell because of happiness. He felt fulfilled, like he didn’t need anything else in the world, like the happiest place he could be was there, on Wade’s arms.

And it was.

Feeling the other’s mouth softly collide with his lips was an indescribable feeling. The anti-hero could really use some cocoa butter, but the way he led the kiss, with so much compassion and fond, totally compensated the dry lips.

Peter could barely believe it. Maybe it was a really realistic dream, an illusion, a hallucination, or something. It felt unreal— the happiness, the love, the tears, the touch, the kiss, everything. He was so gone.

And wait a minute, were those tears on Wade’s eyes?

The hero laughed and cried, giving Pool quick pecks on the lips. He could feel his salty tears, but couldn’t care less. He felt fucking extraordinary.

“I can’t actually believe this isn’t just another Tuesday dream.”

Peter gently punched Wade on the shoulder, quietly agreeing. He didn’t want to think about anything else, what could’ve happened If he didn’t talk to MJ, or if he didn’t tell him how he felt, or if he didn’t feel the same. He wanted to enjoy what he was feeling and living through at the moment.

It felt only natural to hold Wade’s hand, warm and rough, and walk around the house playfully, talking about the things they liked about each other. Peter was smiling so much his cheeks hurt.

It felt only natural to tell him without fear, without second thought, how much he loved to trace his scars, how much he loved his stupid jokes, how much he loved his cooking, his mannerisms, the way he quietly snored when he slept, the way he always managed to make Peter feel like a new and better person.

It felt only natural (and super embarrassing) to hear Wade talk about the way he bit his lips and frowned when he was deep in thought, how he slept with his mouth half-open, how he always had a random fact ready to drop, how he always made the merc feel safe.

While Wade prepared them some spaghetti (his old roommate’s recipe, he said), Peter cleaned the place. As it was a terrible mess, it felt relieving and kind of changing to be doing that.

Sunflower by Rex Orange County was blasting loudly on a huge speaker the hero didn’t know Pool had. He was dancing around with the vacuum on the living room, Wade was singing (not so gracefully) and shaking his hips, and they were both, obviously, smiling and laughing around.

At some point, a bit before Peter moved to the other rooms, Wade came at him wiggling his eyebrows and smirking like an idiot. He couldn’t help a smile, especially when he was kissed once again. It felt like the butterflies on his stomach wouldn’t go away so soon.

It felt weird to eat so much with such a wide smile on his face, but he got over it soon. Wade didn’t stop talking a single second, and it lifted his spirit to see the other man so excited.

The day went by like a few minutes, surprising Peter to see the sun setting by the window. He threw himself on Wade’s bed, exhausted of cleaning and dancing, procrastinating the shower he knew he had to take.

Feeling the merc get on bed with him made his heart go crazy, but he knew it wasn’t weird. Not until Wade started to hug and get over him like the world was falling and they would both die.

"Wade, what are you doing?" he asked, genuinely curious.

The man didn’t answer for a few moments, seeming to be getting comfortable around the younger, like a snake. If Peter didn’t know any better, he’d feel trapped. "Adjusting to maximum security."

Peter frowned. "What?"

"Subject requests maximum security for protection," Wade said, way too serious look on his face for what he had just said.

The hero smiled, not even being able to move his pinky. "Oh my god, why are you even talking like that?"

Wade wasn’t able to hold it anymore, he started to laugh and release Peter a bit, but not completely. He poked his forehead with a soft smile.

“I just can’t believe this is real, pumpkin.”

Peter kissed him tenderly, still smiling. It felt like the first time.

“Me neither.”

* * *

It would have been the perfect night of sleep, wrapped in Wade’s arms, no nightmares or anxious thoughts. It would have been, but MJ decided to call at 2 a.m.

“Wha’?”

He could hear her trying to muffle her laugh, mean as always. “Sorry to wake you up.”

Peter frowned, still keeping his eyes closed. “I know you’re not. It’s cool,” he said, still groggy and a little disoriented.

“I just wanted to know if you’re good,” MJ said, slight worry evident on her voice. “I was actually hoping you’d call, but you didn’t, so…”

He had forgotten the girl actually cared for him for a second. Sure, she had quite a peculiar way of showing affection and care for people, but she was still his friend. He sighed, careful not to awake Wade, too.

“Sorry, I completely forgot,” he said. “But things went well. He actually— god, he actually likes me back. Can you believe that?”

He could _feel_ her pointed look. MJ was scary. “Of course he does, Parker, your puppy eyes have mercy for no one.”

Peter smiled, "You need anything else?"

"Equal rights?" she said, so fast the hero couldn’t have blinked.

He chuckled, “MJ!”

“What?”

He muffled his laugh, trying his best not to be loud. “I can’t wake Wade.”

Silence for a few seconds. It took Peter way too long to realize the implications of what he had said. “Not like that!”

“Oh, thank goodness, I thought you were becoming a thot. No offense to people who sleep around, do what you want, be safe and be happy, I just didn’t expect it from you.”

Peter rolled his eyes with a smile. They talked for a little bit longer until MJ had to hang up. She apologized again, wished him goodnight, and didn’t even give him time to say it back.

Putting his phone down, the hero turned around only to meet Wade’s eyes wide open. He would have jumped out of the bed if he wasn’t being held.

“Hey,” he said, and if felt so stupidly romantic.

Pool smirked, blinked slowly and said, “Hey,” back. “Who was tha’? Isn’t it like, super late?”

Peter nodded. “MJ. Wanted to know how I was doing. She’s the one I told you about, who vibe checked me.”

“Webs, it’s too late for me to try and remember what that means. You should go back to sleep,” he said, stretching his arms and putting them around the hero once again.

Peter pouted. “Too awake now.”

They just stared at each other’s eyes for a couple minutes. The moon light was lighting their (oh god, _their_ ) room, no siren sounds, no loud talking, no party on the neighbor’s, just... them.

“I’m in love with you,” Wade said.

Peter’s cheeks felt like they would rip apart. He was so sappy. “I’m in love with you, too.”

And when they kissed, it felt magical for some reason. Maybe Peter was still sleepy, half-dreaming, but Wade’s lips against his, their tongues just dancing around each other, it felt surreal. Strong hands lifting his shirt slowly, and his heart might as well have jumped out of his body.

At that moment, the only thing Peter cared about, was being with Wade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: Nothing sexual happens in this if you don’t want it to. I ended the chapter there, ‘cause I wanted to leave it up for you guys to decide. Are they ready for it? Is it still too soon? I don’t know! It’s up to you :).  
> Also, I'm sorry to disappoint you all, but this work won't contain any explicit sexual content; it'll be mentioned a few times, but that's it.
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) 
> 
> No trigger warnings! Just happiness as we get closer to the end of this work.
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Peter didn’t once, not ever, thought his life could take such a wild turn in a week. He was so stupidly happy. He felt extra idiotic for running away from such a bright future— being with Wade felt like his destiny.

Eating suddenly wasn’t so hard anymore. He learned that Wade distracted him, even if sometimes unintentionally, when they were at a table, that way, he barely noticed what he was eating. He smiled and let it happen, he knew it was for the best, even if his stomach felt weird sometimes and guilt almost drowned him.

Falling asleep again after a nightmare was almost like helping an old lady cross the street. Peter couldn’t quite comprehend, but Wade’s presence seemed to put him unexplainably at ease. He felt safe and warm.

Nothing really seemed to matter when they were together. They didn’t care people were starting to put the two and two together and think they might be a thing. They didn’t care some people were ignorant enough to call their love “sinful” and “wrong”.

They were happy.

Peter felt like he was finally ready to see May again. Visiting Queens after all of the time he was away was… weird, to say at least. He had made sure, of course, to buy the flowers from Gabby back in Massachusetts, black dahlias on the back of the car he didn’t even know Wade owned.

He was more nervous than he should be. But, at the same time, it made sense. He was wearing her clothes. Her yellow sundress, that not anymore smelled like sweet perfume, her brown old work boots, even more worn out since he had been using it, and of course, her date perfume.

Wade’s arm over his shoulder, protectively walking by his side like they would die if they were apart, Peter felt complete.

He felt like he was finally in peace with everything that happened.

On their way to May’s grave, Peter saw someone he didn’t think he’d see so soon. It was Ned, walking towards him, awkward smile on his face, but genuine happiness on his eyes. Wow.

Neither said anything until they were close enough, Wade not even noticing the tension between his lover and the dude on the same sidewalk.

“Peter!” Ned called, and the hero didn’t know if he was ready for that talk at the moment.

He still smiled awkwardly and let his old friend hug him. It felt good, weirdly nostalgic and familiar, to feel Ned’s friendly hugs once again. He couldn’t deny they were the best.

They slowly let go, both ignoring Wade’s confused frown, and Peter simply said, “Hey, Ned.”

He felt bad at that moment, too. He gave his friends time to see if they would try to contact him, but he, himself, made no motion to do the same. Maybe he should’ve tried.

“Bro, I missed you! And I’m so sorry for going off the radar for a while, I was a terrible friend,” he said quickly, surprising Peter. “I thought you needed space, but then I talked to MJ and apparently I was only making things worse!”

The young hero couldn’t help but chuckle. Yeah, he wouldn’t be able to resist it. He shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself for thinking Ned didn’t want to be his friend anymore. It was Ned, come on.

“It’s fine, dude. I missed you, too.” Peter saw the tears roll from his friend’s eyes and smirked. “Come on, if you cry, we’ll both end up with bottles of tears, you know how it is.”

Ned smiled. “I know, sorry, sorry.” He sniffled and cleaned his face. “I just love you, bro!”

“I love you, too.” He brought them to a hug again, only remembering Wade’s presence when said one cleared his throat.

Looking at the older man, Peter could see at least a hint of jealously, but mostly confusion. He hadn’t meant to completely ignore him like that, but.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Did I just crash a date or something?” Ned apologized, looking at the flowers almost crashed between him and Peter. He let go of him and offered his hand to Wade. “I’m Ned, an old friend of Pete’s, nice to meet you! Sorry again.”

To Peter’s surprise, Wade snorted. “I’m Wade, nice to meet ya, too, small fella.”

They were both out of the masks, and the hero would have to thank Ned endlessly later for not acting like he just saw a ghost, or say something about Wade’s scars. He was a blessing. Soon enough, Peter hoped his self-esteem would get even better. They just needed time.

That was also the moment he realized he was in a dress. He blushed deeply, resisting the urge to cover his face and sleep for at least five centuries. Ned was indeed the friendliest person in earth.

“Welp, I gotta go now, but it was awesome to see you, Pete. I’ll call you later, bye!”

Ned seemed maybe a little intimidated when he left, but he did pat the hero’s back before leaving. Peter smiled as he watched the other go, it had been an incredibly delightful meeting. He felt good.

“Who was tha’, sweetheart?” Wade asked as they resumed their walk.

Peter closed his eyes and tugged his arm between Wade’s, holding his hand closely. “One of my best friends from high school.”

He didn’t elaborate more, but that seemed to be enough for the anti-hero. They enjoyed the silence until they finally stopped in front of where May lied. Wade kissed his forehead and gave him some privacy, which he deeply appreciated.

“Hey, Aunt May,” he whispered softly.

Peter made sure to update her on everything. He told her about how the move went, meeting Deadpool, how it felt in his apartment, their developing friendship and how it became a crush, the argument with Mr. Stark (which, oh shit, he had to meet him), how MJ talked him out of being a coward, his love confession, their relationship and how happy he was.

He didn’t know how much time he just stood there, playing with the flowers in his hand and telling May how crazy his life was. It had been almost three months since she died. So much had happened since, he felt like a totally different person. A better person.

He cried a little, he had to admit, but they were tears of relief. As he adjusted the flowers on her grave, he smiled, getting up and walking away.

Wade gave him a big, warm hug when they met on the entrance again. Peter couldn’t decide between laughing and crying as he let himself be held in such comforting embrace. They stood like that until he had calmed down.

Walking back to the car, the mercenary received a phone call. It wasn’t a rarity, he occasionally left for missions once in a while, but he picked it up with a huge grin, looking a Peter with enthusiast and confidence.

“Weasel, my man, how lovely it is to hear your voice again!”

The hero could swear he heard a quiet, “Yeah, wish I could say the same” on the other side. He raised an eyebrow and mostly didn’t pay attention to the conversation that flowed, until his name was mentioned. Well, Spider-Man’s.

Wade huffed. “I’m telling you, he’s right by my side.” He groaned and threw his hands up after a while, gaining a chuckle by Peter. “Heard that? That was him!”

Peter couldn’t deny, he was well intrigued by the moment. He realized it was the bar owner’s Wade wanted him to go in a while back, the man who didn’t believe they were teaming up.

“Oh, fuck you! Talk to him yourself,” Wade said angrily, shoving the phone on Peter’s hands.

Staring at the phone reluctantly, he cleared his throat and put it close to his ear. “Uh, hi?”

He was met with silence for a solid minute, until he heard a small gasp. “Holy shit, you’re actually Spider-Man.”

Peter smiled, saying, “Yeah? I thought it was all over the news by now.”

Their relationship wasn’t a secret to many, and the hero had been scared at first, thinking about the merc’s not-careful-way to approach his own identity and face. Wade was quick to dismiss him, however, for the only ones who actually knew his name were Weasel and “Mr. Tin Can”.

Peter could deal with that. He just had to be extra careful, he didn’t know what type of person Wade’s friend could be.

“I need a fucking drink,” was Weasel’s response, followed by him hanging up. Well, that was that.

Peter gave Wade his phone back, assuring him the guy probably believed him by then, chuckling at the anti-hero’s complains and rambles about his friend.

They were about to take off to the Avengers Tower, where Peter was actually supposed to have a decent conversation with Mr. Stark, when he reached a bouquet of roses in full bloom on the back seats. He fidgeted awkwardly and gave them to Wade.

He had bought them with Gabby, to thank the mercenary for everything he had done for him and more. She had recommended them for being simple and romantic, but also representing gratitude. (He had made sure to pick red ones, of course.)

“They’re not really especial and extra, but…”

Peter knew Wade. Anything that possibly shined and was either red or colorful, he liked it. He had chosen the roses, however, in hope he would like it nonetheless. He felt like it fitted what he meant better.

“I’ve never gotten flowers before,” Wade cut his mumbles, voice serious. “I mean, I was a total snack back in my school years, but y’know, toxic masculinity and all that bullshit. But these are lovely, Pete, just like you.”

The smile that crossed his face was enormous. Peter sighed in relief, letting his head hit the seat as Wade put the bouquet down. Taking him by surprise, the merc stole a kiss. A peck became a long one, then tongues got involved and—

“Wade, I still have to talk to Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, taking a breath.

Huffing, groaning and cursing the gods, DP started to drive.

The hero had time to think until they got there. Well, not much, but still. What was he going to say? To do? How to behave? What if Mr. Stark was still mad? Peter was so lost. It wasn’t the time to have an anxiety attack, he told himself, breathe. Just. Breathe.

Wade slipped a hand over his own, which calmed him down deeply. He took a couple few deep breaths, said the alphabet reversed, every element of the periodic table, his web’s formula and— yep. He was fine. Everything was fine.

They parked a few lots from the tower, and walked to the back entrance. Wade held him close, and Peter did feel amazing, but anxiety was no joke.

Thankfully, they didn’t have to talk to anyone. Friday knew who they were and why they were there, so she directed them to one of the unholy amount of floors that building had. Peter had never visited that one before.

They stepped in, hesitant, but confident at the same time. Wade scanned the room, but found no Mr. Stark. Of course he was late.

They sat on a sofa, it was a considerably small room, like a fancy living room, but Peter knew that was nothing compared to the main common room. They had enough time to get comfortable, the anti-hero lifting the mood with a few jokes.

When the elevator doors opened, Peter’s breath hitched. It was Mr. Stark.

“Underoos! Good to see you here,” he said, walking to them, as if nothing had happened at all.

The young hero smiled awkwardly, he really, really hoped he wouldn’t say anything about the dress. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

Being hugged by the man definitely hadn’t been foreseen by Peter, especially after everything that had happened. He appreciated it nonetheless, accepting the warmth and hugging him back.

“Listen, I’m sorry.”

Peter gaped. Did he just apologize? Did Iron Man just say, “I’m sorry”? In what reality? Not being able to hold it in, Wade chuckled. Peter gave him a glare, but couldn’t deny he was also shocked.

He shook his head, eyebrows raised— Mr. Stark was completely ignoring his boyfriend’s presence. “It’s fine?”

Sighing and rubbing his temples, Mr. Stark let Peter go and gave him a serious (ly tired) look. “I’ve been seeing a therapist,” he said, and before anyone in the room was even able to blink, he continued, “I know, shocking. Anyway, I was an asshole, I apologized.”

Peter was at a loss of words; he didn’t know what to say at all. It seemed like Wade was, too, for the stunned look on his face. The billionaire looked between them, it was visible he was holding another sigh, and crossed his arms.

“I’ll be more present in your life, ‘kay? I know I was supposed to be mentoring you around, but come on, I’m me. I don’t even know what’s going on in my own life,” he joked, earning an unimpressed looked from Peter. “I’m working on it. Promise I’ll be more understanding from now on, okay, kid?”

The young hero smiled, it was good to hear that he was seeing a therapist, that he was trying to improve. “I’m not a kid anymore, Tony,” he proudly said.

The look on Tony’s face was priceless. “Oh, fuck it, come here,” he said, opening his arms once again.

Peter snorted and hugged him even tighter that time. He was glad to know things would work for them both, that he wouldn’t have to hide or worry anymore. They just needed to talk. Communication was important, even if he had learned that the hard way.

Letting go, Tony shot Wade a hard glare, “And you, Mr. Pool, you better take care of my kid. I won’t be the only one you’ll be seeing if you hurt him.”

Yeah, it was great to have Tony back.

“I would be honored to be the first to kill me myself if I did, sir,” Wade said with a grin. Peter was dating an absolute idiot.

The rest of the day went surprisingly well. Tony offered them a place to stay in the tower, to which, of course, they denied. They weren’t ready for that yet.

Peter said goodbye, feeling so happy he could explode, and Wade drove them back all the way to Massachusetts. What was able to surprise the young hero even more that day, was the merc bringing up therapy.

“Y’know, it wouldn’t be too bad to see a therapist, don’tcha think?” he asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

Peter almost choked on his own saliva. Of course, he completely agreed, but hearing it come willingly from Wade was really nice.

He smiled fondly. “That would be great.”

They were both unable to stay at home that afternoon. Too happy and energized to do nothing, they agreed to patrol for a while.

The city was quiet that day. They ended up helping a few elders cross the street, a cat down a tree, helped a couple people get out of a building that had a small fire, stopped one or two muggings. It was a good day.

They ended up on the roof of a building, Peter laying his head on Wade’s shoulder. They were obviously not trying to hide their relationship— even because that would be hard on both of them.

Watching the sunset, Wade hummed Put Your Head on My Shoulder by Paul Anka. Peter was slowly falling asleep; the tracing motions his lover was doing on his back making him feel at peace. Eyes feeling heavy, breathing slowing, Peter allowed his eyes to close.

Before the world became dark, he sleepily whispered, “I love you.”

Eyes widening, Wade looked at the man in his arms, serenely sleeping. He smiled fondly. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: I call you guys “my gems” because each one of you is unique and beautiful in your own way. It’s a way of thanking you for your support and your presence, accompanying me through this journey! (Don’t tell anyone, but I got it from a lame site that gave you ideas of what to call your best friend. The meaning is original, though, you’re all important to me!)
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> I post every Sunday at 8PM (ET)! Thank you for reading :)
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


	13. The Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my gems! :) I can't even believe we finally got to the end!
> 
> Be safe, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! <3

Ten years was a long time. A really, _really_ long time. Ten years was a whole decade. That meant that Peter had been with Wade for more than one third of his life. That was a lot.

There were so many things going on Peter’s life. From a chronological order, he had finally got his PhD on biochemistry. He might as well have cried for hours no end that day, Wade had gotten genuinely worried. He was just so relieved and happy.

Then, the ducking unbelievable had happened. The Avengers had offered him a place in the team.

Peter Parker was becoming a fucking Avenger.

He was about to throw up. He just couldn’t believe it. Spider-Man, an Avenger. Him. Oh my god.

“Relax, love, everything’s gonna be fine! Nothing’s gonna change, we’ll just be living in the same tower as the world’s mightiest super-heroes and interacting with them on a probably daily basis. Nothing to worry about,” Wade said, driving them to their new place.

And there was also that. They were moving into the Avengers Tower. Finally taking Tony’s offer from 10 years back. The young hero felt like going to sleep forever.

Peter put his hands on his head, really feeling like removing a couple few hairs. “You’re really not helping, Wade.”

One thing he was grateful for, was that Tony let Wade share his floor with him. Tony Stark had allowed Deadpool not only inside his tower, but to live in it. And they had a whole freaking floor just for them.

Peter could kiss anyone that came to view at the moment. And that was Wade opening the door for him. He threw himself over his boyfriend and stress-kissed him like he was about to die. Well, he felt like he was.

They kissed for a few moments before Wade let go, raising his eyebrows. “Wow, baby boy, I didn’t know you had it in you,” he said, smirking.

Not being able to help the heating on his face, Peter turned away. He should’ve been over that already, but it was impossible with Wade. He took a deep breath, taking his the merc’s hand and calming himself down. It was going to be okay.

“Come on, Petey, I can see the truck waiting for us.”

They walked to the back entrance, where there was a considerably subtle truck with all of their items parked. The couple guided the workers as to which floor take their things and where to put them, both glad Tony had called trustworthy people to help them.

“I don’t know, he looks like he could be Stark’s kid to me. Maybe they kept him from the media and now are telling us the truth,” one of the women working whispered.

Peter’s head turned so fast he didn’t think it could even achieve that speed. He looked at the workers and back at Wade. Were they talking about him?

The guy she was talking to looked rather unsure. “Mari, I’m not saying I don’t see it, but I still don’t think Tony Stark would be able to hide a kid from us all this time. Maybe he’s a nephew or something.”

Wade snorted, and the young hero punched his shoulder slightly, gesturing his head towards the boxes they were helping carry.

“Stark doesn’t even have siblings!” whom apparently was named “Mari” whisper-screamed.

Peter looked at the anti-hero with a smug look, but Wade only smirked. “She’s not wrong, though, boo.”

Rolling his eyes, he snatched his boyfriend’s boxes from his arms and left him behind. They could meet later. He was more worried about having everything in place and organized, so they could be comfortable as soon as possible on the new home.

The day went by with a blink. They unpacked everything after they were all on their own floor and organized how they thought looked most like Wade’s house back on Massachusetts. It wasn’t identical, for sure, but it looked good. Comfy.

The other rooms on the floor were fancily furnished. There was a small kitchen, a bathroom (despite they already having one in their bedroom), a living room and their bedroom, of course. It was a whole house. Well, kind of like an apartment. But in the Avengers Tower. Peter would never get over that.

But the one thing he would definitely not get over so soon, was that he had his own private lab. Entering the room was like seeing his high-school dream come true. He grabbed Wade and showed him around with the widest smile on his face. It felt like everything was going right for him.

It felt like it was all worth it.

* * *

Wade was childishly running in front of him, laughing like a little kid, through the seeming endless corridors and floors to where Tony had requested their presence. Say, usually, he would’ve been very nervous and stressed about what all the secrecy was about, but, knowing the billionaire, he had probably prepared a small celebration for him or something.

“Deadpool, slow down!” he almost shouted. Give him a break, after walking around all day carrying boxes, he was tired.

Wade, the bastard, continued to run, but backwards so he could look him in the eye and say, “That’s not what you were sayin’ last night, baby doll!

Peter almost choked. “Wade!”

They got into an elevator and the hero punched his boyfriend in the arm, taking a few seconds to catch his breath as Wade just laughed at him.

As the doors opened, Peter felt all of the life in him dissipate. The Rogue. They were back.

It wasn’t a major surprise, he knew the team was getting back together, the tower was bought back and they would all be happy and together once again. He just didn’t expect to meet them so soon, so thanks for the heads up, Tony.

“Spidey! Good to see you, how do you like the place? Did you already organize everything?” Tony greeted him with questions, walking to him and typically throwing a hand over his shoulder. “Did you see your lab? I designed that myself, not like anyone else knew what you liked as I do, am I right?”

The young hero smiled, totally trying not to think about how the fucking Avengers were all (well, sans Thor. He had to deal business in Asgard, apparently) and in front of him. He was not thinking about all the things Wade was about to say and how he was going to work with them. Not at all.

Just as he thought, he felt Pool poke him on the shoulder and whisper, “Babes, are we not talkin’ ‘bout the elephants in the room? ‘Cause I can feel ‘em staring at me.”

Wade was wearing his costume, just like Peter was. The thing was, well, the Avengers didn’t like Deadpool. Jokes on them, because Spider-Man and him were together, and they would have to deal with it.

Tony seemed to finally get the tension and walked Peter, Wade walking behind them, to the team. “Well, let’s introduce the new team member, then!” he said. “Everyone, this is Spider-Man!”

Peter almost face palmed. Miraculously, majority of them smiled. It made the younger (he would never get rid of that nomination, would he?) hero feel much more at ease, and he smiled, too, despite knowing it didn’t make a difference.

“It’s so nice to meet you all again, under better circumstances this time. I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said and bowed slightly. What, he was polite!

After that, things went much better than he thought they would. Apparently, Tony _had_ prepared a celebration party, so they ended up having drinks and listening to music on the penthouse. The team was treating him and Wade incredibly well, and just as he had said, Hawkeye— who insisted in being called “Clint”— had worked with the merc before. They seemed to be in good terms.

Peter felt good. He was much better at socializing, being able to mask his stress and anxiety pretty well. He made small talk, asked a couple questions, they all seemed to get along nicely enough. It made him feel proud of himself, as selfish as that sounded.

Wade didn’t get into a fight with anyone, nobody seemed actually displeased to have him there, even if they would probably feel more at ease if he wasn’t, but they were okay with that. The Avengers would get used to having Deadpool around, and Peter was willing to wait for that.

The night went by and they were all laughing and chatting, like a good team would. When Wade started to notice Peter yawning through the mask, he started to say good night and thank them for letting him stay. Who would have thought, Deadpool, thanking the Avengers? His ego wasn’t as hurt as he thought it would be, in the end.

He walked to his boyfriend with a smirk and hugged him from behind, taking advantage of the fact that Peter’s spider-sense was long gone when it was him. The hero had gotten used to the sudden touches, though, so it was not as funny as it once was.

“We should head to bed, gorgeous,” he said, interrupting Peter’s boring conversation with Dr. Banner about his papers on some hard words he didn’t recognize and didn’t even want to.

Apologizing for the abruptness of his departure, Peter thanked the doctor an unholy amount of times and said he hoped they could continue the conversation another time. Banner didn’t seem to mind, as he was tired as well.

“It’s a win-win, Petey, now, let’s goo,” Wade whined, “I know you’re sleepy.”

Peter smiled and blinked slowly, but didn’t start to walk towards the door, the opposite actually. “Yeah, yeah, but I still have to say good night and thank everyone, so you’ll have to wait for a bit.”

Wade watched as the love of his life (he’s not exaggerating, okay?) did the same thing he had done a couple minutes ago, feeling rather awkward as he faced again the people he’d said, “bye” to.

Finally ending his suffering, Peter talked with Stark for a while, but finally started to head to their floor. He let out a small, “Yay”, that totally did not go ignored by Pete.

They went straight to bed and, suffice to say, within just a few minutes, they were both gone. Cuddling always made falling asleep easier for them.

* * *

The press conference the next day was much more stressful than Peter had anticipated. Just as he woke up, the first thought that crossed his mind was “Oh god, I won’t survive today”.

Even if Tony had selected by finger who was in the room, toned down the number of cameras and demanded they did not just blind him with flashes, Peter still had the feeling it would be too much. Too much pressure, too many people, too many voices, too many—

“Mornin’, baby,” Wade mumbled, hugging him closer.

Smiling, Peter calmed himself down. It was not time to have an anxiety attack, really not the time. He could maybe have a sensory overload later, but he couldn’t let his anxiety ruin the day that had barely even started.

He adjusted himself in Wade’s arms comfortably and breathed slowly. “Good morning, Red.”

They stood there for a while. Just breathing, enjoying the warmth, as Wade played with Peter’s curls and occasionally kissed his head. The hero would’ve done the same, but he was locked in his boyfriend’s arms, and he wasn’t about to complain.

Then, the alarm Peter had settled played and they had to get up and ready.

It was still stressful, there were a couple people running around, Tony seemed slightly irritated, which was why Peter didn’t try to make small talk or ask if he could have breakfast before the conference.

Wade just sat with him, tracing circles on his hand and waiting with him until he could go in and speak. He had a small speech prepared, about how he was an Avenger but that didn’t mean he was giving up on his secret identity, all of that.

To be all honest, he could. He still had Ned and MJ, but they weren’t as much at risk as May was one day. But he liked his privacy, and just seeing how super-heroes could barely go out as themselves, he decided on keeping his identity a secret.

Sadly, Shield had to know it so he could sign the contract. He wanted nothing to do with them, really, but it didn’t look like he would be messing around with them a lot. They just kept them in line and sometimes offered a hand.

He didn’t stress much about it, though, Shield held an unholy amount of secrets, it wasn’t like they didn’t know how to keep things hidden.

The questions he was asked weren’t invasive, weren’t stupid, weren’t exactly what he expected, but again, Tony had selected them by finger. They were actually talking business and serious topics; which Peter was grateful for.

By the end of the conference, he was not about to cry or hide or sleep for 24 hours. He was fine.

Well, maybe the small devices on his ears and the lenses helped him a little bit, as he was already anxious, but that wasn’t important. He apparently wasn’t the only one to be proud of himself for improving so much, too.

Tony seemed genuinely happy when he talked to him afterwards, congratulating him and saying how proud he was. Peter couldn’t help the smile. Even Ms. Potts had talked to him, “You’ve come a long way, Peter. We’re all proud of you,” she said.

He was about to head back to where Wade was waiting him, but Tony held him behind.

“Pete! Just a moment, I wanted to ask you a serious question.”

It really didn’t do good to his senses that were already over the top, but he smiled politely, mask over his nose, and nodded so he could continue.

Looking at him in the eyes, Tony asked, “When I decide to retire, will you take over Stark Industries for me?”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he was at a loss of words. It was a lot to unpack. It was not the time, not the place, not the occasion to ask him such thing, but it was Tony Stark. The choice of words showed how he was. The young hero was not surprised.

Except he was.

“Can I think about it?” He ended up saying. “It’s not like I’ll end up refusing, but that’s a lot for me to process.”

Tony laughed and patted him on the back. He felt like a teenager again, dumbstruck when the same man offered him a suit designed by himself, Stark Tech.

“Sure thing, Underoos.”

When he met Wade again, he was still not over it. He barely understood as Wade congratulated him and said how proud he was, and something about celebrating.

They were walking back to their floor so they could take a relaxing bubble bath with all the treats they could find, just as they had planned previously, when Wade looked at him worriedly.

“You okay, Pete?”

Peter smiled, never feeling as happy as in that moment, when he had his life finally almost put together, with a loving boyfriend, friends, a family, a future. He chuckled.

“I think I just became the heir to a multi-millionaire company.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact Time: This work had many different endings throughout my journey. At first, it would end with Peter and Wade adopting a little girl (which is cute, but just wasn’t working out); then, as Peter announcing to the world he’s Spider-Man (which doesn’t even make sense); then Peter would announce he’s SI’s heir (which is nice, but Tony’s not that old yet, so no need to do that for now); but, in the end, I settled with this one. Maybe it’d have been better if I’d kept one of the others, but it feels like this fits more! What do you think?
> 
> Comment any tags I may add! I want everyone to feel comfortable while reading, so if you have suggestions, please tell me!
> 
> Thank you SO much for sticking with me and the story for so long! I have a lot of sequels planned, so look out for the series, I may post them any time!
> 
> Find me on Instagram: instagram.com/kohionegai


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